


beastly.

by AnotherGallavichLove



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, Fantasy, Kissing, Love Is Never Ugly, M/M, Movie AU, Popular!Ian, Romance, Shameless Big Bang (?), beastly au, cocky!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherGallavichLove/pseuds/AnotherGallavichLove
Summary: Meet Ian Gallagher. He’s always been one of those kids in high school who’s got it all - looks, money, popularity. Not to mention the unbelievable arrogance to tie it all together; he’ll never change. That is - unless somebody changes him.
(A modern-day take on the "Beauty and the Beast" tale where a New York teen is transformed into a hideous monster in order to find true love.) [Beastly AU]

  Click here to see the beautiful art that was created!





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know what exactly is going on with the big bang, but the fics should have been posted ages ago and we haven't heard anything. Someone posted theirs, so I'm gonna post mine too, because I don't want it to go to waste. I haven't read it through in months, so I'm not sure about it, but anyway. 
> 
> Also, keep in mind that Mickey and Mandy aren't related in this fic!

Ian’s heavy, struggling breaths blended together, just barely overpowering the heavy beat that poured into his ears from his wireless earbuds. His lips were parted, a slight tinge of salt on his tongue from licking them; his heart was pounding vigorously inside of his chest while he moved, his muscles tensing and relaxing, over and over again. The long, red strands of hair on top of his head were starting to become just a little bit soaked with the sweat that his body was releasing through the workout. He was in perfect position, hands placed flatly onto the dark, hardwood floors of the personal gym, his arms lifting his body up and down in a way that made him almost able to feel the muscles building larger - not that he particularly needed it. He looked good already - and he knew it, too.

 

The skin covering his body, dipping softly in all the right places, was starting to turn red with exhaustion, but he was used to it, and he continued pushing. After all, a little bit of pain was only good if it meant that he could look even better. The pushups started to become synced with the music; he wasn’t counting them - he just pushed and pushed until his body collapsed. There was virtually no way of knowing how many he had done since he had begun, but he had to have been at it since at least ten minutes - his arms were absolutely burning, wanting to give up.

 

Finally - after maybe twenty, or thirty more - Ian gave up on the pushups for the moment, laying down onto his stomach before flipping over, going back to doing the sit ups. It was pretty much all hell in the moment - he was pushing himself beyond the limit, and he always did - but it was one of the reasons he looked good, so it was worth it. If looking good was the end result, anything at all was worth it.

 

  
***

 

  
“Do you remember what points to make?” Ian’s campaign manager asked from beside him while they all rushed through a few of the hallways around, making sure to get to the stage on time. He just nodded as a reply, assuring her that he knew more than well what to say to make sure that he would be chosen as academy president.

 

Although - he didn’t have much worry inside of him, people would have to be out of their minds to vote for anybody else.

 

The steps of his team continued echoing around him, and he looked down at his body, just making sure his clothes were sitting just right, making sure that he looked beyond hot - the dark blue jeans covering his legs were just the right amount of tight; not rock star skinny to the point where he could have just as well been wearing leggings, but they had a skinny fit; the black dress shirt was tucked into them, perfectly buttoned up, and the look was finished off with a pair of shiny oxfords - he did, he noted. He looked beyond hot - not that it was a difficult task with a face and body like his own.

 

Ian brought his right hand up to his face, running it over his clean-shaven chin right as they all entered the room that had the stage where he was supposed to hold his speech in a few minutes. He hadn’t exactly planned out every word or anything like that, he just knew he gist of what he should try to get across - a guy like him didn’t need to prepare, he knew this. Ian was hot, charming - why would he ever need to prepare for a speech? All he needed to do was smile and tell it like it was. There really, truly wasn’t anything else to it at all.

 

Ian had to sit next to the stage for a few minutes, just waiting for his turn. Within doing so, he also had to listen to the other people that were running, and as he watched them, he heard their classic speeches - their ‘I care about the environment’ and ‘I can make this academy a better place’ bullshit - he almost had to dig his teeth into the skin of his cheek to keep from laughing his ass off - they were ugly, too. If Ian hadn’t already been sure that he had this thing in the palm of his hand before - he was now, no doubt at all. All he needed to do was get up there and flash his smile - maybe he should start planning his celebratory party already.

 

Once it was Ian’s turn to get up on stage and convince everybody in the room to vote for him, he put his well-polished shoes onto the black marble of the steps, walking up onto the stage. The crowd immediately started clapping, somebody way in the back even whistling; Ian painted that large, charming, You-and-I-both-know-who-I-am smile onto his face.

 

The room was bright - and since they were right at the edge of the building, one of the walls were completely made out of windows, highlighting every single face in the crowd, showing the ones that were close to matching up with his own, and the ones that, well… just weren’t.

 

Ian took long, confident strides across the stage until he reached the microphone, placing his hands flatly onto the glass table, the grin on his face not moving one single bit while the crowd continued cheering. Ian may not be world famous, but he was rich, he was good-looking, and in here - he was the king.

 

Ian’s perfect teeth shone, straight and white - just as perfect as the rest of him. The muscles in his arms were just about big enough to show even through the black shirt, the fabric hugging his body.

 

“You all know who I am” Ian begun, talking confidently into the mic. His voice was strong, assertive - he knew what he was doing. He knew what to say, how to act to manipulate people into voting for him - and he didn’t even have to lie to do it. In fact - “You may wonder why I am running this year. And you may say ‘Why should I vote for you?’ Well, that’s a good question. Why should you vote for me?”

 

Ian was silent for a second, a few of the people in the crowd still cheering him on; he smiled, then and continued;

 

“I could say that you should vote for me because this is all I have ever wanted - because I can make this school a better place, or because I care about the environment.” Ian said, keeping that all too alluring smile on his face as he spoke, feeling just as confident in himself as he always had. “But that would be a terribly big lie. I don’t give a shit about the environment. Maybe I would need to say those things if my face looked like, say… Scott Davidson’s” Ian grinned, gesturing down to one of the other guys running, some of his groupies laughing in the crowd, the guy scowling up at Ian. “The truth is that when I win - I won’t do any of that. Because here’s the thing…” Ian continued to charm the crowd, looking back over them all again. “Beautiful people get it better!”

 

Those were pretty much the only five words that Ian had planned out in advance, and just according to his plan - the crowd started screaming, cheering at the truthful statement. Ian was silent for a few beats, his grin large enough to expose his perfectly straight, pearling white teeth. He was more than aware that the bright, natural light coming from the large windows also highlighted his green eyes and made the red color of his hair appear even brighter - surely his freckles stood out more as well. In other words - he looked even better today than he usually did - everything was going perfectly, as were most things in his life at the moment.

 

“That’s just the way it is” Ian continued, voice strong, echoing assuredly through the microphone and out through the speakers. “So - should you vote for me for no other reason other than the fact that I am the rich, popular, good looking guy?” He asked then, waiting for a beat before throwing his fist up in the air, making the crowd go absolutely crazy. “Hell yeah!”

 

  
***

 

  
“Great speech, Ian. You pulled that off so smoothly, you have them in the palm of your hand now” Ian’s campaign manager joined his side once again a few minutes later when he had left the stage, all of them continuing through the building, through hallways and past posters of the different candidates, some kind of music booming in the far distance.

 

“I already did” Ian answered easily, his face natural, confident and assured, not much different from the way he walked - the way he always moved. He knew who he was, what he looked like; he didn’t even need to try. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were folded up to his elbows now, exposing his forearms, because he knew that it made him look even a little bit better - made the girls and the gay guys go even a little bit crazier for him - made them want him even more, and for that matter made the straight guys want to be him, even more than they already did.

 

His body was relaxed, back completely straight, arms hanging by his sides while he walked; the red hair on top of his head was combed back without any kind of product in it - the product would keep that one stubborn hair from falling into his face, and he was well aware of the small things that made him go from hot and beautiful to beyond.

 

“Good, continue on just like that. And you know who has a vendetta against you. So stay - away from the witch” She spoke, and Ian turned his head to look at her, wondering why she had chosen this exact moment to remind him.

 

Then he saw her, of course - standing in front of one of the trashed posters of himself - her own work, most likely. There was a reason people called her the witch - save for actual powers, she was just that. From the long, black hair on top of her head that almost always seemed to be styled into some kind of Amy Winehouse look-alike poof, to the massive amounts of eyeliner around her eyes. The pale lips, and the way she was dressed didn’t help with the nickname either. The tight, black corset held her tightly, a lot of it hidden underneath the cloak - or whatever that thing supposed to be, it looked like one. The black skinny jeans may have been normal, but they ended in a pair of ugly, spiked heels so they weren’t very effective.

 

Ian wasn’t exactly one hundred percent certain as to why she hated him so much - then again, it was more than possible she was just angry she couldn’t have him. Most people were. Ian’s team walked off into different directions, all of them having better things to occupy their time with now that the actual speech was over. Ian headed over towards her where she stood, still leaning her back against the lit poster. He put on his charming smile once again - although now it was looking somewhat more sarcastic, because he had tried to win this bitch over before, and it had never worked, he didn’t bother trying very hard anymore.

 

“Mandy” Ian said, his perfect teeth exposed where he stopped, a few meters away from her. There weren’t way too many people around here - most of them were still over by the stage, listening to the rest of the candidates. Still - Ian honestly wasn’t sure how this girl could dare show herself in public the way she dressed, she should be embarrassed - if not of the clothes then by the tube of eyeliner she used on either eye, or the way the lips made her look like a cancer patient no longer fighting for air.

 

“Impressive speech” The witch’s voice was flat, carrying no virtual dimension. Ian supposed there was a reason a lot of people chose to stay away from her, they were scared. Ian wasn’t - though he disliked her just about as much as she did him. “I can see looks are important to you”

 

“Well, in the world we live in, they’re important to everyone” Ian answered easily, that self-assured smile still glued onto his lips. “Except you - clearly” Mandy’s mouth stayed closed at that, but pulled up into a smile, a few dark chuckles sounding in the base of her throat, her eyes squinting just a little bit, making her look even more hideous than she usually was.

 

“I would be careful if I were you” The witch spoke then, the pitch of her voice a lot deeper than any girl’s should be. She gave Ian one last evil smirk, almost as if she was hinting at something he didn’t understand, then she straightened up and walked past him, her hideous heels creating a deep, clicking sound, growing less and less loud the further away she got. Ian turned around, squinting to himself while he watched her, only thinking over her words for a slight moment - he was used to her making comments like that, he wasn’t disturbed - she definitely was, though.

 

A beat later, Ian looked up, noticing that not only the poster Mandy had been leaning against was trashed, but they all were - his face covered in spray paint. Was that all the weapons she had to try to make him lose this election? Please.

 

Ian scoffed to himself, shaking his head a little bit and turning around, immediately taking half a step back again, just a little bit startled by the guy a couple of posters over. He hadn’t been aware of anyone else being that close at the moment - Ian had seen him before. Maybe, at least. He couldn’t possibly remember all of the faces he ran into, especially the ones who had no virtual role in his life.

 

“Sorry, man” The guy said, and Ian raised his eyebrows, his face somewhat neutral otherwise, since he had no reason to be annoyed with the guy, and no real reason to be charming at the moment. “I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything, I just needed a less crowded place to take a couple of notes” His hand was curled around a notebook, and he moved it a little bit, dragging Ian’s attention to the matte, black item. Ian’s eyebrows traveled a little bit further up his forehead when he looked back at the guy’s face.

 

“You work for the school newspaper?” Ian leaned back a little bit - as much as he could standing up - then he crossed his arms; the last thing he needed was for someone working for the school newspaper to write about seeing or hearing him talk to the witch - that would not exactly do wonders for his reputation. And his reputation was everything, especially right now, in this election. The guy raised his eyebrows right back, lifting his shoulders, most likely catching on to Ian’s suspicions - smart guy.

 

“Sort of, yeah. Don’t worry - I’m not focused on you, and I don’t know Mandy” The guy’s voice sounded somewhat bored as he leaned against the lit poster beside him, looking up at Ian - something felt strange. People always sucked up to Ian, or they hated him - few people hated him of course, just look at him, but he ran into those as well, believe it or not. It was strange to find someone who was somewhere in between, maybe even slightly uncomfortable, and Ian wasn’t all too sure how to act. So he just let his arms go, letting them hang by his sides again, painting on a smaller, less shining version of his classically charming smile.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why I don’t know Mandy?” The guy looked to the side for a beat; Ian shook his head ‘no’, letting his smile grow - it was the main thing he knew how to do - smile and be charming. And luckily - it worked. Money and charm always worked.

 

“Why aren’t you focused on me? Most people around here are” Ian clarified truthfully, his voice completely serious while he waited for an answer. It was true - Ian knew that it was true. The majority of the people that moved around this area, they were focused on him, he was well known, well liked. He was hot, beyond it, even - which was always a big advantage. It was just like his father had always taught him - if you don’t have your looks, then you just don’t have anything. All the guy seemingly did, though was stay silent for a beat, almost as if he was wondering whether Ian was being serious or not. Then he scoffed lightly, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Substance over style, I guess. I’m gonna get going. But it was good to finally meet you after three years” The guy said then, that same boredom present in his voice; Ian wasn’t all too sure why. A lot of people around here would feel lucky to get a few minutes alone with him. “…Sort of, I guess” The guy’s eyebrows drew together then while he started to back up, almost as if he was regretting his previous words, or as if he thought Ian was strange. Then he turned around, walking away.

 

Ian took one step forwards, or maybe it was two; he then leaned against the trashed poster of himself, just watching the guys’ back for a minute, wondering why he suddenly felt a small urge to know his name.

 

  
***

 

  
Later that night, Ian was sitting up on his bed, the smallest one of his laptops in his lap. One of his large hands were resting on the keyboard as he lazily scrolled through a few different social media feeds. He wasn’t all too sure why, if he was being honest - people were saying exactly what he knew they were thinking. They were talking about how much they admired his honesty, and how they were totally going to vote for him. Ian had the entire academy in the palm of his hand - just as he had predicted. A small, proud and self-assured smile appeared on his lips, and he clicked onto his own profile, making sure everything looked good there too.

 

He had changed his profile picture less than two days ago - it was a selfie, taken not even a minute after one of his most intense workouts; he had his shirt off, of course. Sex sells - he knew this better than anybody. The green eyes were showing, along with that smile that he knew people bought into as if it was a piece of cake or something; just enough of his sweaty chest was in there, too - Ian knew exactly what to do to get people on his side, even over the internet. It wasn’t that difficult, it was about looks - everything was about looks. He looked down to his interests, smirking at the text he had put in a few months ago; ‘Anything with a dick, willing to bend over’. A small, dark and amused chuckle sounded in the base of his throat, right before he heard the large door downstairs open up, signalling the fact that his father was home again.

 

Ian looked to his closed bedroom door for a moment, then he shut his laptop and put it onto his nightstand instead, picking his iphone up, walking past his ninety-nine inch flatscreen television and out of the large bedroom. The dark, perfectly polished hardwood floors were somewhat cold under his bare feet, and he heard his father’s voice coming from downstairs, most likely talking to somebody on his phone. Ian brought his right hand up to his head, brushing a few of the red hairs back as he started walking down the tall staircase, towards the hall and the kitchen. The sound of his father’s voice only grew louder for every step he took, and Ian recognized the tone of it as the one he used when he was making an important phone-call, something having to do with work, most likely. But then again, it had been a long time since his son had heard him use any other tone.

 

Ian reached the bottom of the tall staircase, his feet hitting the same dark wooden floor on the first floor; except for that, pretty much everything inside of this house was white. The italian marble that made up the counters in the kitchen; cupboards, fridge and freezer with doors so clean and polished that you could probably stand before them and style your hair without using a mirror. The walls and the leather couches were white as well - as a conclusion, this house matched the people who lived in it quite well. Stylish, beautiful and worth millions.

 

There weren’t many walls, the entire place was quite open, so when Ian was standing at the bottom of the stairs, all he had to do was turn and walk a couple of steps to the right to spot his father in between the kitchen counter and the island, holding his phone to his ear and talking fast in big words about something that Ian couldn’t quite understand - though he didn’t really care all that much to, if he was being honest. His father didn’t notice him as he took a few steps into the kitchen; instead the older man put an expensive glass onto the white marble, unscrewing the top off of a bottle of whiskey, continuing to talk into the receiver of his cellphone.

 

Ian fished his own out of the back-pocket of his jeans, pressing the home-button to make the screen light up, lazily scrolling through the hundreds of notifications - he was getting some extra now since they were right in the middle of this election. A lot of them weren’t important, though - someone said they wanted to fuck him, somebody else asked him out on a date - yeah, fucking right. People had to earn that shit, they couldn’t just send him a tweet. Please.

 

“How was your day?” Ian’s father asked him right as Ian sat down onto one of the barstools, back facing the staircase, elbows resting onto the white marble. He looked up at the older man, seeing the phone still pressed to his ear. “No, I was talking to my son, not you”

 

“Nailed the speech, I should probably start planning what I’m gonna do when I win” Ian answered honestly, looking back down onto the screen of his phone, hearing his father say something else that wasn’t meant for him this time. Ian pressed one random notification on his phone, busying himself for the next twenty seconds before he had some of his father’s attention again.

 

“That’s good” Ian looked up, seeing that the other man had moved his phone a little bit from his hear, just enough to imply that he was probably put on hold for the moment or something. “You’ll do great, Ian - no, not you. I said Ian, I was talking to my son, look are we going to hire this man or not? Because I may not have a limit to how much money I can spend, but I sure as hell have a limit to how much money I am willing to spend on this one project, especially if it’s not going to make me much in the end, and I…” Ian tuned the voice out again, focusing on his own phone, looking through a few of the nudes random girls sent him - shouldn’t they all have gotten the message by now? He wasn’t even remotely interested in anything that had tits and a vagina, fuck. “Have you thought about what you’re doing for the celebration?”

 

Ian looked up again, and his father had his phone lazily pressed to his ear again, waiting for somebody to come back to the other end. The younger man shrugged a little bit - he did, sort of. But he didn’t have time to plan it, he would hire someone else to do it for him, wasn’t that kind of one of the biggest upsides to having money? People may expect him to have a party, but like hell he was spending his own free time planning it or throwing it.

 

“Maybe, I don’t know” Was all he said, and then he heard some kind of tone coming from his father’s phone.

 

“It’s work, Ian - I have to…” He spoke, and Ian nodded, looking back down onto his own with not much else to do at the moment.

 

“When was the last time you had a conversation that lasted more than five minutes with your son?” Ian couldn’t help but ask, a joking tone to his voice, but his father had already put the device to his ear once again, walking out of the kitchen.

 

“Clayton Gallagher”

 

  
***

 

  
It was only a night or two later that Ian entered the celebratory party, a few of his friends by his side, all of them looking perfect - like he would ever allow anything else. Some pop song with a heavy, sexy beat echoed throughout the place, and the neon lights were on, once in a while highlighting different faces on the dance floor before continuing to spin around. Posters of Ian’s face were placed here and there on the walls - these ones weren’t trashed, of course - Ian had made sure of that. And if he was lucky then the witch wouldn’t even feel the need to make an appearance and bother him tonight. Tonight was about him - tonight would be filled with spotlights, music and alcohol and he wouldn’t have it any other way - it was how he and his friends chose to spend most their nights. If he couldn't remember anything tomorrow morning, then it would have been successful.

 

Two or three of Ian’s friends walked away from him, towards the dance floor and someone else headed off towards the DJ booth, leaving Ian alone and free to walk towards the bar instead. He may not be anywhere near twenty one yet, but he rarely found that anybody bothered him about it - everyone knew who he was, who his father was. If he asked for a drink, nobody ever denied him.

 

Ian looked even better tonight than he had been in the middle of the election - if it was possible, that was. The dark blue jeans were tighter than the ones he had worn the day of the speech - almost so that he had to fight to get into them, but not completely. He wore a similar black button up shirt, but it was somewhat of a more relaxed style, and he hadn’t tucked it into his jeans this time. Of course he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because he knew how it added something extra. The expensive leather converse sneakers sat on his feet, perfectly laced up, making him look somewhat more like a teenager. Ian had also trimmed the sides of his hair a little bit, the red strands on top of his head somewhat slicked back - he looked good, he knew that he did, and this was one of the wildest parties he had been to in weeks - it was a good night, too.

 

The music was loud enough that it just about hurt Ian’s ears - just the way that he liked it; to the point where he could feel the bass down his spine and into his feet. On his way over to the bar, a couple of people stopped to congratulate him on the win, but he didn’t pay them all too much attention - he just flashed that one smile and then he thanked them - it was a well rehearsed dance at this point.

 

Once Ian was close enough that he could see the bar, even through a small sea of people - he noticed him. The bartender. Well - one of them, at least - this was a large fucking club, there were at least four or five currently at work. But one of them, the one at the end, it was him. Unless Ian was mistaken, of course, but he doubted that he was.

 

It was the guy that he had talked to for a little bit the day of the election - the guy who had acted so seemingly casual around him. Ian had almost forgotten about it - actually, scratch that - he had completely forgotten about it, he had better things to do than to go around thinking about some random guy. But now, when he was a few meters away from him again, he remembered.

 

Ian didn’t know his name, fuck - even if he had, he probably wouldn’t even have been able to recall it - but he did remember that there was something unusual about him. Something that Ian found… interesting. From the few sentences they had exchanged, Ian couldn’t possibly gather that the guy cared all that much about him, which frankly - didn’t make all that much sense. People always cared about Ian. Wanted to impress him.

 

“Can you get me a beer?” Was all Ian said, purposefully leaning on the very end of the bar to make sure that it would be that one bartender that heard him. There were quite a few people gathered around the bar at this point - it was still quite early, and a lot of them probably wanted to get drunk before they could embarrass themselves on the dance floor - but most of them were in the middle and few close to Ian, so the guy heard him pretty much immediately, simply getting a beer and opening it, putting it in front of Ian before going over to the next order, still staying somewhat in the same spot.

 

Ian didn’t know why he had the urge to know the guy’s name - even if he told him now, he would be drinking tonight, so there was even less of a chance that he would remember it tomorrow. And it wasn’t as if Ian wanted a boyfriend or anything - he was too hot to be tied down, he would cheat in the blink of an eye, no fucking doubt. But, still. There was just… something. Something that made Ian stay by the bar instead of lifting his beer and turning around to find his friends again.

 

“Are you slaving all night?” The guy looked to him as the words reached his ears, seemingly a little bit distracted while he opened another beer for someone else, shrugging.

 

“Slaving all year. Gotta pay the bills, man” Was the only response Ian got to his question, and it took him a little bit by surprise - it sounded strange in his ears. Working to be able to pay the bills, it wasn’t exactly something that he would know anything about. Ian was Ian Gallagher - the name said enough.

 

For some reason that Ian wasn’t sure of, he ended up staying by the bar for another few minutes - he wasn’t staring at the guy for all of that time, his mind drifted in and out. He even turned around and leaned against the wooden countertop, looking out over the crowd - it looked good. All of the people that were in here were beautiful, because the guards knew how important that was to Ian, and after all - this was his night. Like hell he would let them let pimple faces or fattycakes in. Someone had suggested that Ian should have a big dinner or something more sophisticated - but he had only laughed at that. That wasn’t his thing - he wanted alcohol, dancing and music that made you feel like you were being torn apart when the beat dropped.

 

A while later, once Ian’s beer was empty, he turned back around and placed it onto the bar counter, ready to ask for another, but he was just in time to see the guy untying the small apron from around his hips - the one that they all were forced to wear behind the bar; he handed it over to somebody else, saying a word or two. Ian realized that he was going on break, and that would mean that he could probably have a minute or two to find out his name - even if he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.

 

Why the hell Ian wanted to know something as meaningless as his name - he wasn’t sure. Then again, if he couldn’t know his name, he would take a one-night stand, that would be fine. It had been at least a day or two since Ian had gotten laid, tonight was a good night, and he’d bet the guy would appreciate bending over for him of all people.

 

“There a reason you’re still here instead of out there with your crew or whatever?” Ian looked up at the question, seeing the guy nod towards the dance floor; Ian turned his head, seeing two of his friends dancing deep in the crowd, moving around to the music, grinding on each other. Then he looked back to the bartender, just shrugging once - like hell he was admitting that it was because he wanted to know more about him.

 

“Did I apologize for being a dick the other day?” Ian asked - personally, he didn’t think he had been that bad. With a face and a reputation like his own, he was allowed to be cocky - fuck, more than allowed. However, if he wanted to end this night with the guy underneath him, he guessed that he would probably have to work a little bit more it, and he was smart enough to understand that his usual front most likely hadn’t impressed the bartender.

 

“That day was the first and last time you ever talked to me in three years, so… no” Bright, blue eyes connected with Ian’s through the color lit darkness for a second - just one silent beat. Then; “Take a picture with me” Ian’s eyebrows knitted together at the statement that had left the guys’ mouth. “School newspaper, remember?” He elaborated then, and when Ian followed the direction in which he was currently looking, he noticed a younger teenage boy, not dressed much differently from the bartender, but this one was holding a camera, standing still and waiting because he had heard the guys’ words.

 

The guy walked around the bar, and Ian straightened up, feeling himself agreeing to the request despite the fact that he had no fucking clue in hell as to why he was doing so - he was very picky about who he was seen with, and how published pictures of himself looked - he couldn’t look good in pictures, he had to look more than, the camera had to do him justice, and he doubted that that would happen in a dark club. However - the guy walked closer to his side, and Ian took a step towards him to, their shoulders brushing as the younger guy lifted the camera up to his eyes.

 

“Wait” Ian said then, turning towards the guy, who turned back, his eyebrows furrowing a little bit in seeming confusion. Ian had completely forgotten about it until right this second, and he didn’t know what caused him to do it, why he thought it was a good idea. Either way, something possessed him. He lifted his right hand up to his own chest, carefully taking the small rose out of his pocket, placing it onto the other guys’ instead, watching it stand out against his black vest. “There”

 

“I’m worthy of you” Ian frowned, what the hell? Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, this guy - “It’s what white roses mean” The guy said quickly then, their eyes connecting through the darkness. “It’s a… weird fucking hobby, I know. And obviously not what I thought you meant or whatever, it’s just… kind of my thing. Whatever” He shook his head a little bit, and Ian couldn’t help the small - real - smile that took over his lips as they both turned back towards the camera once again.

 

They were still standing close together, shoulders brushing. Ian swallowed, looking into the small black lens. For a minute, that was. Or a short second, more like it. Then he felt some kind of tug, some kind of pull; and he turned his head once again, just looking at him. Ian still wasn’t sure why, why he was alright with taking a picture with him, why it sort of, kind of bothered him that he didn’t know his name. Why he had given the small, white rose away. Ian didn’t know anything. All he knew was that this guy was… almost as beautiful as he was himself.

 

Especially now that he really, really looked. The guy had his eyes focused into the camera, a simple smile on his lips - thick lips. And had they been in the daylight, they probably would have looked as if they were a light shade of pink, but now they looked almost cerise, clouded by different bright neon spotlights.

 

The guy was quite a bit shorter than Ian, so he had the perfect angle to just look down at him, he couldn’t help it, there was that weird kind of tug. Something about him that made him, just… interesting. He wasn’t tall, he didn’t have a body that suggested that he spent every day at the gym - from what Ian could gather, at least - basically he didn’t look like Ian, or any of Ian’s friends. But he was still just as good-looking. The dark hair on top of his head was styled with some kind of a gel, and the dark lighting somehow highlighted his jawline. Highlighted the perfect shape of his eyebrows. It was almost as if they were alone now, all Ian could focus on was him. This guy just… he looked so…

 

The flash of the camera teleported Ian back into reality, made him tune in the loud music and the dancing people again. He blinked a little bit, taking his hand off of the guys’ lower back, backing up a step - hell. He shouldn’t have done that. One of the most important things in his life was being seen with the right people - people he could be certain were just as good and rich and popular as he was himself.

 

“Thanks for doing that, man” The guy spoke, and Ian nodded.

 

“Yeah, whatever”

 

  
***

 

  
A couple of hours later, Ian was right in the middle of the crowd, talking to an admirer or two - girls, sadly, so he wasn’t interested. Alas, he flashed his special charming smile, knowing that he looked better than god. The two of them giggled whenever he said anything - quite literally anything - and he figured that they probably weren't aware of the fact that he was about as gay as they come, but in any case he enjoyed the attention, and it was good for him. People running after him would keep him the most popular guy of the academy - not that he was worried. Just fucking look at him.

 

And someone was - he realized.

 

There she was, right in the middle of the crowd with her arms crossed. She looked even more horrid than usual - if that was even remotely possible. The dark hair was styled even taller, and the black shade around her eyes seemed deeper. How in the hell had she managed to somehow get into this place? Ian didn’t want her here, she was a freak.

 

They were close enough that they would be able to hear each other somewhat if they were to yell - but she didn’t say anything for a beat. She just kept her arms crossed over her chest, staring into Ian’s eyes in a way that made chills run down his spine - not that he would ever admit it. Normally, she was just… annoying. Mean and ugly, and all of that - now? She just seemed… scary. But Ian would die before he would let her in on the fact that whatever she was trying to do was working, so he cleared his throat and he raised his eyebrows, yelling over to her;

 

“I thought I explicitly told the guards not to let ugly freaks into my party” Ian said the words with a cocky smile on his lips, and he heard various admirers cheering him on, he and the witch quickly gaining an audience - and like hell anyone was on her side. They all loved him. “Maybe I would have been able to make an exception for your eerie personality if you had even tried to look hot, but - “ Ian cut himself off to laugh deep down in his throat. “No dice, sunshine”

 

Ian’s words didn’t seem to shake the witch much, all he got was laughter from his groupies and supporters. Mandy barely even blinked. She just stood there, arms crossed over her chest, pale lips and dark eyes making her appear as if she were an actual witch rather than just a gothic bitch.

 

Ian knew that he had people collected behind his back, looking at her as well, showing that they were on his side - of course they were. Who in their right mind would ever be on hers? Ian expected her to turn around, to admit defeat - or hell, even stumble over her words when she finally opened her mouth, but that’s not what happened.

 

“I came here to see if you were worth a second chance” The witch’s words were clear, secure and loud. Maybe it should have scared Ian, but all he did was smile - laughing in her face. What was her problem? Second chance? For what? Ian had his looks, he had money, he had people running after him - like he would ever need a second chance, what was she on about? “But I can clearly see that you aren’t” Ian raised his eyebrows, chuckling conceitedly once again, hearing it echo through the people behind him.

 

“Yeah. Whatever. Just go home, Winnie Sanderson” He laughed deeply once more, then he turned around, tuning the music in again, ready to get back to his friends and his life, ready to continue being praised. Mandy stopped him, though.

 

“Ian?” Ian tiredly spun around once again, looking into her deep, dark eyes. Her face was just as pale as it had been a moment ago, but her eyes, they seemed… they just made a chill run down his spine, he couldn’t explain it. Then she opened her mouth. “Best. Embrace. The suck”

 

The smile immediately fell off of Ian’s face. He felt as if he had been shot, knocked down onto the ground. His body didn’t move, surely nobody else noticed the effect that her words had had on him, but he just… he felt… dizzy.

 

  
***

 

  
It was probably about ten minutes or so later that Mandy was nowhere to be seen anymore, and Ian was out on the dance floor, just moving his body to the music, his friends collected around him, the beat shaking his spine all the way down to his feet, his head feeling somewhat… strange. Ian knew that he was moving, knew where he was, knew what artist was playing, but he… he couldn’t explain it, really. He just knew that he felt strange, and he couldn’t really feel his body all too much anymore. His vision was becoming blurry.

 

“Hey, you’re sweating a lot, what the hell did you take?” One of Ian’s friends asked, her voice a lot more annoyed than worried as she slapped his chest a little bit, trying to get an answer out of him. Ian continued moving, but he had a feeling that his movements weren’t as smooth or as synced to the music as they had been a moment ago. With every single second that passed, it was as if he was just becoming more and more… dazed out. Everything was just blurry, everything was… so fucking strange, what the actual hell was going on with him? He couldn’t… he couldn’t breathe, it was like… he couldn’t even remember the night, he couldn’t remember what he had taken. He had to have taken something, but he… he couldn’t remember what it was. Ian was just… he was… so… he felt…

 

“I gotta - I gotta go” Ian mumbled, feeling himself lose some of the sensation in his feet and body. Brain. Then he messily stumbled out of the crowd, pushing himself through the massive amounts of people, and through the booming music. He wasn’t all too sure where he was going, or what he was doing, or what the hell was happening to him.

 

Ian just knew that he needed to get out of here, preferably go somewhere where there was fresh air, and wind, and anything but hot, sweating bodies and loud music. He just couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think straight, he had never in his entire life experienced something this terrifying before. Ian didn’t have control of his own movements in the way that he should; his own thoughts. Everything was blurry, and everything was hazey.

 

Ian vaguely registered that he made it to the back door and outside of the main part of the club, the heavy metal doors slamming shut behind him, the music becoming a lot more muffled. He was still inside of the building, thick walls surrounding him, but the area was quite dark, his vision only becoming more and more blurred by the second, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t stand up straight. Somewhere, deep and far into the back of his brain, he knew that if he made it to the stairs, then he only had to climb them to get to a door that would lead him to the roof for some fresh air, so that’s what he attempted to do.

 

Ian did manage to find the bottom of the stairs through the pictures and the echoes and the shadows in his head, but it was difficult. He wasn’t all too sure what was real and what was not anymore. For a split second, he saw two deep, blue eyes, surrounded by dark black eyeliner, then in a snap of somebody’s fingers, they were gone and something echoed inside of his head. It sounded like ‘tree’ or ‘bloom’ or ‘love’ or ‘unattractive’. Ian couldn’t tell. He just continued to stumble, falling against different walls, curling his large hands around the railing of the stairs and climbing two steps before falling down three. Everything was blurry, everything was strange, he couldn’t decipher anything, he was just… he couldn’t breathe, he was… What the hell was happening to him?

 

Then, finally - after what could have been five minutes just as well as five years - Ian pushed his sweaty, tired, just about limp body against the glass door, and he stumbled out onto the roof, feeling some of the fresh air fill his lungs. He felt somewhat better, and he continued stumbling over to the edge, wrapping his hands around the metal railing, clenching it so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

 

Ian’s head was dipped, and had his eyes not been clenched closed, he probably would have seen several cars speeding below, looking like little ants from where he was standing. Even with his eyelids covering his eyes, Ian felt his vision was blurry, he could see things. Just… colors, as if the spotlights from inside the club had snorted some coke and followed him; he also saw those eyes again, and he saw a white flower, just for a second. Then it was gone, and he heard heavy yet somehow light steps behind him, walking across the flat, polished cement.

 

“It’s going well” Ian flinched at the voice, turning around to face her. Mandy. She was standing quite a bit away from him, looking just as hideous as she had a moment ago. She was smirking - he should have known that she was behind this fucked up night somehow.

 

“What’s happening to me?” Ian’s hands were behind himself, still curled around the railing. He couldn’t quite recognize his own voice, he sounded raspy, just… out of it. Though his vision was starting to come back despite the way in which his heart was beating fast against his ribcage, slamming against his bones over and over and over again. He just wanted to know what this was, he had never in his entire life experienced something as terrifying; he had taken some different drugs in the past, but none that made him feel quite this out of it.

 

“What is happening is your life taking a turn for the worse” The witch stated, sure of herself. “But it will become better again - that is, of course, if you succeed”

 

Ian continued breathing heavily, feeling a few of the red hairs on top of his head fall down, tickling his forehead, sticking to the sweat as he waited for her to continue talking; he couldn’t muster up the strength to ask. Ian felt too weak, it was as if his body was just… caving in, turning into nothing.

 

“You have one year to find someone to love you” She took two steps over to Ian, the heels of her shoes creating an echoey, loud noise as they hit the cement. The witch gently wrapping her hand around his left wrist and turning his hand upwards, showing his forearm. “Until the tree blooms again”

 

“The hell?” Ian breathed, petrified, his mouth growing dry. This had to be some kind of nightmare, all of it. Right there, on his arm was one of the most hideous tattoos he had ever seen - and he was watching it develop on the pale surface of his skin. It looked like a tree from some kind of horror movie, lonely. And there were three, four, five - six, now - small, white roses showing up on the ink. Ian could only stay completely still, he didn’t know what was going on. His heart was still pounding, vision somewhat blurry.

 

“You are now as of this night, as impressively and undeniably unattractive outside as you are inside. Only the words ‘I love you’ will release you from the spell.” She spoke. Their eyes connected. Bright, chilling blue ones burning into Ian’s. “Or stay like this forever”

 

Then she was gone, and Ian clenched his eyes closed, his heart speeding up, throat tightening. That feeling was starting to come back, that blurry vision, and the more sense he tried to make of the witch’s words, the less he understood them. What was she on about? What was going on with him? The air blowing around him on the rooftop wasn’t helping anymore, his throat was swelling, head and heart pounding. Ian felt sick, he felt as if he was being torn apart, as if he was on a carousel possessed by the devil; one that just spun and spun and spun, and then - and then nothing.

 

Ian felt good again, calm. His body felt normal.

 

Until he looked up, that was. Until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of those dark windows across the roof. No. No. No. Ian’s heart stopped, but maybe that was just the shock. The revelation that… that he wasn’t beautiful anymore.

 

Ian carefully took a few, careful but heavy steps closer, his right hand lifting up to his cheek. There it was; not just in the reflection, but underneath his fingertips. A deep, terrible scar. His face was littered with them, some more tattoos covering his neck. Ian recognized his eyes, but… that was about it. The rest of him was gone. The top of his head was nothing but damaged, ugly and scarred skin, the strands of red hair that he took so much pride in vanished, he was bald. His skin seemed to have changed to a shade even a little bit paler, but his freckles were gone, no more there.

 

Ian brought his left hand up to his face as well, just holding it carefully. Scars that looked old and white, scars that looked new. Some kind of weird, silver thing in his forehead. He looked at that for a minute, realizing that it looked a lot like the tree on his arm; it shone a little bit in the moonlight, and when he traced his fingers over it, he felt that it was, in fact, metal. How the hell. What was going on with him? Black, strange designs all over his skin, looking as if they went down further on his body than just his face. Hideous cuts, and more scars. He looked… like a monster, he looked like a beast.

 

“No” Ian spoke thickly, his voice the same as it had been an hour ago. He was the same, his voice was the same, his eyes were the same, but this… beast in the reflection, that wasn’t him. “No” He couldn’t go through life living like this. He carefully traced a finger over one of the thick, white scars, following the line from his cheek, across his mouth and down to his chin. “No”

 

Ian swallowed, he must have been standing there for hours. Just looking, her hideous voice echoing inside of his head.

 

_“Until the tree blooms again, until the tree blooms again, until the tree blooms again. Or stay like this forever, stay like this forever, stay like this forever, forever, forever, forever…”_

 

  
***

 

  
Much later, Ian wrapped his hand around the handle to open the front door. The clock had to almost have hit four am by now, maybe even five. He had managed to find some large, black hoodie at the club that somebody had forgotten, and he had the hood up, hiding his face just about completely. How was he supposed to explain this to his father? How was he supposed to go about explaining this to anybody - how was he supposed to go on with his life, looking like this? It was a complete impossibility. Ian had always had his looks, had his charm and his money, and now - in some kind of acid trip way that he didn’t understand for the fucking life of him, it was as if it all was just completely gone.

 

Ian swallowed, opening the front door while he kept his head ducked down, hiding his face just in case his father would still be awake. And apparently, his night hadn’t been quite bad enough yet, because -

 

“Ian? Is that you?” The front door closed behind him, and Ian clenched his eyes shut. The last thing he needed was for his father to see him like this. Especially now. Ian wasn’t the only one who thought looks were important; he had learned that lesson from one person, and one person alone. He couldn’t let that one person see him ugly.

 

“Fuck” Ian breathed quietly before raising his voice. “Don’t turn on the light!” Silently, he was begging for his father to just obey and in fact not make this an even more terrible night for his son. However - it didn’t take very long before Ian heard his steps walking from the livingroom and heading towards the hall and the door where Ian was leaning, hoping that he would find a way to get out of this. “Why do you love me?” Ian hadn’t been aware of the words on the tip of his tongue before they were out of his mouth, reaching his father’s ears.

 

“What kind of a question is that? You’re my son” Ian swallowed, listening to the response through the darkness. He wished that he believed him, wished that his father’s love for him wasn’t solely based on his looks and his popularity, but honestly - he wasn’t so sure. Of course, looks were every bit as important to Ian as they were to his father, but at the moment, he wasn’t feeling so good about himself. “Now - “ There. He had turned the lights on, exposing his son, making every single scar and every single crack, every single tattoo visible.

 

Ian’s lips parted, just watching the disappointment form in his father’s eyes.

 

  
***

 

  
Ian swallowed, looking out over the water. There were a few buildings in the distance - maybe he could even see a small hint of his previous home. The sun was shining, burning up in the sky to prove that it was indeed the middle of the summer. The dark water sparkled, seemingly lit by the bright weather - it was beautiful.

 

Out there, that was. In here, it was a lot more dreary. A lot more sad. How the hell had Ian managed to get himself here? He didn’t deserve it. Alas, he knew what he looked like now, and he knew that he couldn’t be seen out in public like this; he was more than aware of why exactly his father had insisted that they did it this way, it was worth it. Ian couldn’t just go on, go to school and go hang out with his friends like this - he was a beast, and not the good kind that he used to be. He was just ugly. Nothing more.

 

Ian had been like this for almost an entire week now; his father had brought him to just about every single doctor in the country, all of which said the same thing - they couldn’t fix this. They couldn’t fix him. Ian was stuck like this, he was stuck being ugly. Being the complete opposite of what he used to be. Fuck. His pale lips were slightly parted, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his dark blue skinny jeans. That one black hoodie that he had stolen on his way out from the club had pretty much been a stable, he hadn’t taken it off once except for when he went to bed at night. It was good, it hid his face from other’s view on the rare occasions that he didn’t have a choice but to go out in public. However - that didn’t mean that he felt better about himself.

 

“This is nice, isn’t it? Private, out of sight” Ian turned around to face his father, nodding once or twice. It wasn’t as if he was wrong - this house was, in fact, private and out of sight. If only for the fact that it was disgusting. At least by his own standards. It wasn’t very large, it wasn’t bright; the walls were painted either a musky white or moss green, depending on which room you were in, and they had some weird, old timey panels on them. Even despite the large window that Ian was standing by - which had a pretty alright view, he had to admit - it didn’t look fancy.

 

Maybe some weird people would find this beautiful, charming or whatever - but Ian had always lived in a new house, a crisp and bright house. A house that carried a shine and that was clean enough that you could almost guess it had been polished with bleach. This wasn’t that. This was a skinny, old house with a lot of creaking staircases - but it was out of sight. No one would ever think to look for Ian here, and as important as that was to himself - it seemed to be extra important to his father. So he had agreed. As unhappy as it may make him.

 

“Yeah, it’s good” Ian nodded once more, digging his hands a little bit further down the pockets of his jeans. “Are you ever gonna come visit?” It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the answer to that question - his father had barely had time for him when he had been beautiful, hot and popular - what were the odds that he would make time when he was an ugly loner, living in a cheap house on the outskirts of town? Not very large - in fact, they barely existed at all. But Clayton Gallagher was too classy to admit it, so he just nodded.

 

“Of course, Ian” He spoke. “Of course I’ll come visit, all the time” It was a lie - they both knew it. Maybe Clayton didn’t know that Ian knew it - but… it was. Ian couldn’t blame him either, he knew what he looked like at the moment, and he knew how important looks were. They were just as important to him, still to this day. Despite him not being beautiful anymore. “And Svetlana’s moving here as well, so you won’t be alone” Ian’s father spoke then, gesturing to the maid that was currently unpacking a few boxes of sheets and towels in the connecting room. Ian nodded at that, too - it wasn’t as if having their fucking maid move in would make up for him looking like this, or for his father abandoning him, but he couldn’t be bothered to say it out loud at the moment.

 

Right now, he honestly just needed his father to leave; he had had enough of him. Ian needed to figure out how to handle this on his own; all of it.

 

  
***

 

  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

 

Small, bored sighs escaped Ian’s nostrils as he sat in the doorway to his bedroom, lazily throwing the small, black bouncy ball against the skinny area of wood in front of him, catching it again. Throwing it, catching it. Throwing it, catching it. Throwing it, catching it. He had been doing this a lot lately, and he was becoming good at it as well - not that it really mattered. But there wasn’t much else to do around here than to throw a small, annoying bouncy ball against the walls and then see how many times you could catch it before you dropped it and had to start all over.

 

There it went - rolling away onto the floor on a failed eighteenth throw. Ian grabbed it before it got too far, starting over once again.

 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. That’s how many weeks he had been in this house now. Six weeks.

 

That was seven weeks of looking like this. Six weeks without leaving the house barely at all - once or twice he had gone for a walk in the middle of the night, but for the most part, he didn’t want to risk it, didn’t want people seeing him and asking. Even if they wouldn’t recognize him as Ian Gallagher, he didn’t want anybody to see him. He was too hideous, too terrible and way too gnarly.

 

Ian suddenly stopped with the ball in his right hand, just looking. Looking down at the pale skin, studying the white, red and black marks that were covering the body part. His hand looked the same, virtually. Same shape, same fingers. But despite that, it was still the hand of a monster. He swallowed before shaking his head, snapping out of it.

 

One. Two. Three. Four.

 

  
***

 

  
Ian’s knuckles somehow managed to turn even whiter, muscles bulging out of his arms and chest as he heaved himself up and down expertly on the pull up bar; the one that was placed in the doorway in between his bedroom and the rest of the house. The only clothing piece on his body were a pair of basketball shorts and some old sneakers. For a change, Ian wasn’t working out to look better - he still had the amazing shape of his body left, and besides, even if he hadn’t - working out wouldn’t exactly have helped his ugly face or torn up, scarred skin. It would have been a lost cause in any case.

 

No - he was working out because he was just simply bored; before he would always spend his time out of the house. In bed with hot guys, or out on the dance-floor, or drinking with his friends - he couldn’t do any of that now. In fact, he hadn’t really spoken to anybody at all since he had turned into… this. Whatever ‘this’ would be considered. Ian didn’t have any intention of re-connecting with his friends either - they cared about looks just as much as he used to, and he was starting to realize that… that they had probably never been great friends to him. Not that he had been such a thing to them either, of course.

 

Ian continued pulling himself up and down, starting to feel his muscles burning in that familiar way; his body was starting to turn a little bit warmer, a thin, barely there layer of sweat covering his skin. His mouth was becoming dry from it all; he used to work out every single day for hours to keep in shape, and with all of this happening, he had been lacking quite a bit in the past few weeks. He could feel it, too - he usually didn’t become this tired this fast.

 

Finally, after what had to be at least a few pull ups into the triple digits, Ian dropped down, focusing on getting his breathing back into check.

 

This room still wasn’t very furnished at all - there were the large windows, letting the sun in to cover the old wooden floors. Creating that light wash of yellow, and highlighting the specks of dust that were flying around in the thick air. The floorboards creaked underneath Ian’s feet as he walked a few steps past the doorway, stopping in front of the old, skinny mirror that was leaning against the cracked wall.

 

Ian’s heart was still beating fast against his ribcage, a result of the workout that he had been at for at least an hour or so now. He looked into his own eyes, recognizing them - they were the same. But the rest of him wasn’t. The bare chest was covered in that pale skin, littered with long, skinny scars and ugly, tribal-like tattoos - but not cool tribal designs, they were sloppy, jagged. Deep, red marks, white marks.

 

Ian watched himself breathe, observing the way in which his chest moved up, and then down. Up, and then down. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Eight weeks.

 

  
***

 

  
Ian’s legs were slightly bent so that he could fit, sitting on the window-seat. His shoulder was almost touching the glass as he looked down at the screen of his computer, lazily scrolling through some different social media pages - he shouldn’t. He knew that he shouldn’t. He felt bad enough about himself already, and he knew what people were thinking. Putting his weird reaction that last night together with him just disappearing with no explanation - it wasn’t too difficult to guess what people were assuming about him. He was right, too - he realized as he went on his mentions.

 

_‘Anyone know what the hell happened to Ian?’_  
_‘Ian just vanished, where is he?’_  
_‘I’m pretty sure Ian is in rehab’_  
_‘It’s too bad about Ian, he was so hot. Figure he’ll ruin his life with drugs and shit’_  
_‘So Ian is in rehab?’_  
_‘No one knows where the hell Ian is, is rehab a good guess?’_

 

Post after post flashed into Ian’s eyes, and he wasn’t even scrolling slow enough to carefully read them all, he knew what they were saying. Despite there not being any kind of confirmation, he was no longer the popular guy, the hot guy, or the rich guy - he was the former popular guy who got into drugs and ruined his life. That’s what the rumor was, at least - that’s what people were thinking.

 

So in a lot of ways, it was the truth. Ian’s life was completely and utterly ruined. He shook his head a little bit, looking out the window next to him. The night was starting to fall now, ending today and beginning the transition into tomorrow. Ian used to like the night - it used to be a chance to experience something cool, to fuck whoever he wanted to, or to just go out with his friends - but, now the night was just annoying. A reminder of the fact that he was one day closer to failing, one day closer to spending the rest of his life like this. Looking like this, living alone, working out, throwing bouncy balls at the walls and waiting for when it would all change - knowing full well that it wouldn’t.

 

“I thought your father was going to come over and have dinner tonight with you, yes?” Ian turned his head into the room, laying his eyes on Svetlana where she was standing in the doorway, looking at him. All Ian knew to do was shrug, shaking his head a little bit. He didn’t have much of an answer - sure, his father had made a lot of promises in the past couple of months. Saying he would be here to visit, saying when, but - Ian never expected it. He cancelled. He always cancelled. Ian knew why, too - because his son wasn’t beautiful or popular anymore. Ian was an ugly, trashed loner - who could blame Clayton for not loving him? It wasn’t strange, it was understandable that he had better things to do than to spend time with him.

 

“He cancelled a couple of hours ago. Whatever” Ian folded his laptop together, carefully placing it onto the floor before straightening up and leaning against the flat wooden surface once again, his sneaker-covered feet touching the other side of the window-seat.

 

“Alright. Well. I go to bed now” Ian heard Svetlana say then; after years with them, she had fully grasped the concept of simply being a maid - not bothering either of her bosses if she didn’t need to. She lived with them, cleaned but otherwise she just minded her own business. Ian doubted she liked having things that way, but they paid her well, so she rarely complained.

 

“Wait” Ian said; maybe it was because of everything going on in his head, or in his life - or maybe it was having to stay away from just about anything and everything that he had ever known - in any case. He just felt the need to ask. “Do I really deserve all this? I mean - am I that horrible of a person? Was I that horrible of a person?” Ian ended with a small, bitter chuckle as he dropped his head, looking down at the white wood through his parted knees. He knew that Svetlana was taking a few steps into the room, probably thinking over the words.

 

Ian realized that she didn’t know him, not really - but right now she was the only one that he could even remotely talk to. And he had never thought of himself as a bad person, or anything of the sort - in fact, he had never given any thought to whether he was a good or bad person. He had been too busy thinking of himself as a hot and a popular person. Ian had had busy days, dancing and drinking, sleeping around and being charming - he had never once sat down - as he was doing now - to really think his life through. Of course, now - he didn’t have all that much choice in the matter. It was all he could do.

 

Now, though - now that he felt this alone, now that he felt this… trapped. Trapped in this house, trapped in this body, trapped in this skin, trapped in boredom and trapped in self-hatred - he had to think. Would Mandy really have done this to him, if he didn’t deserve it? Did that make sense? Did it make sense for her to hate him so much for no reason, and then turn him into this, for no reason? Or was there, in fact - a reason?

 

Possibly a very obvious reason, as to why Ian did in fact deserve this? Why he deserved to look like this, why he deserved to feel like this… it was all just… a lot. And Ian wasn’t sure how to handle it other than to analyse it over and over and over again, never coming up with very much.

 

When Ian looked up again, Svetlana was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t look angry, or anything - she just looked as if she was thinking something over. When she finally opened her mouth to answer, Ian became even more confused than before.

 

“I think you have a good heart. But when was the last time you asked somebody else how they were doing, and listened for their answer, huh?” Ian furrowed his eyebrows, listening to the words - for once - trying to figure out what exactly she meant. Maybe she was right - maybe she wasn’t. Hell if he knew. And even so - was not caring about other people such a bad thing?

 

From what he remembered, he had never asked somebody else how they were doing and actually cared - if he had even ever asked to begin with. But then again, neither had his father or anyone else in his family, so - it couldn’t be that bad. It didn’t make Ian a bad person, it didn’t make him deserve… this. Did it?

 

“It is not too late to figure yourself out” Was Svetlana’s last words, her hand landing gently on Ian’s shoulder for a second before she turned around, walking out of the room once again.

 

Ian looked after her for a beat. Then he swallowed, turning his left wrist upwards, watching the leaves fall off of the tree.

 

  
***

 

  
Ian was startled out of his somewhat deep sleep by a heavy sound bouncing throughout the old house. It almost sounded as if someone was hammering, but it had a deeper pitch; that was how Ian interpreted it as he was still somewhat asleep, at least. He clenched his eyes closed even a little bit tighter, wrapping his arms around his body, just waiting for it to go away.

 

However, the more Ian ignored it, the louder it seemed to get, which resulted in him waking up more and more, realizing that the sound was probably somebody knocking on the front door. It wasn’t exactly a sound that he was used to these days - the last thing he would ever want was for somebody who needed to knock to get inside, to see him like this. The sound stopped for a moment, and then it was back again.

 

Ian’s eyes slowly started blinking open, his brain and body catching onto the fact that it was the morning now. And his back had started to realize that sleeping sitting up on this damn window seat every single night probably wasn’t the healthiest thing for his bones.

 

The sun wasn’t at all as strong today as it had been yesterday - maybe that was yet another sign of summer turning to fall. Usually, Ian would be bummed out about it; summer was filled with adventures, and drinking and dancing - this year he dreaded fall and winter for a whole other reason. Because as the leaves fell off of the real trees, the leaves fell off of the tree on his arm, signalling time moving on. Less time for him to try to somehow get rid of this curse. Less time for him to get back to what he used to be.

 

The knocking on the door downstairs didn’t subside, so finally Ian sighed, realizing that if he didn’t get up and see what the hell was going on, nobody would. Odds were Svetlana was out buying groceries or something along those lines, otherwise she would have opened. Ian’s own deep breath filled his ears and he pushed himself to turn, standing up on tired legs; maybe his muscles hadn’t quite caught onto the fact that he should be awake now. Then he started walking across the room, heading towards the door and the skinny, creaking staircase he would have to use to get down to the front door.

 

A pair of black skinny jeans were wrapped around his legs, and for some reason he had started wearing a lot more of his old rocker tees since this whole fucked up thing had begun - the one that was currently hanging off of his body had the Metallica logo on it - he didn’t listen to their kind of music, but it somehow seemed right to wear the shirt with how his skin looked, hell if he knew why. Then again - he wouldn’t ever like to bring his most expensive clothes into this dusty, creaking hellhole.

 

The old combat boots hit the old steps, the wood making a lot more noise than what could actually technically be safe. Ian brought his right hand up to his head, somewhere in his morning exhaustion forgetting that he didn’t have any red strands to run his fingers through anymore. All he touched was skin and deep scars. He let his hand drop again, finally reaching the first floor of the house and taking the two steps over to the front door, placing his hand onto the wooden surface, looking through the peephole.

 

Ian wasn’t sure what, or who he had expected to see. Maybe Svetlana had forgotten her key, maybe his father had forgotten his - but why he would be here, Ian wouldn’t ever have been able to figure out. Those were… really the only options that he would have been able to think of. But that wasn’t what he saw. Ian couldn’t make out a whole lot through the bulging glass, but from what he could in fact register, it was a man - a couple of decades older than himself, maybe a few younger than his father. It wasn’t anybody he recognised. Especially since a pair of sunglasses covered his eyes.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Ian asked, loud enough that he was sure the sound of his voice would make it through the door.

 

“Mary Poppins” The guy said, and Ian rolled his eyes, moving his head backwards, looking away from the peephole for a minute before he heard the guy say something again. “I’m Jimmy. The tutor?” Ian’s - non existent at the moment - eyebrows knitted together. Tutor? What the actual hell. “Your dad hired me”

 

Of fucking course. It was one thing for Ian to be an ugly loner, but it was another for him to completely drop out of high school, apparently that would not, in fact, be tolerated. Honestly, Ian hadn’t given school a single thought since everything had gone down - not one. And now… fuck. And what made his father think he could just do this without discussing it with Ian? It didn’t make much sense, but then again - Ian had been turned into a hideous beast by his nemesis who turned out to be an actual witch. What could possibly make sense in his world?

 

“I don’t need a tutor. Sorry about the trip” Ian heard his own voice grow a little bit deeper after the mention of his father. Angrier. Maybe he had more of a problem with his father abandoning him like this than he would like to think, hell if he knew. Not that he would cry about it or anything. It just kind of sucked.

 

“Why don’t you holster the attitude and invite me in for a nice hot bowl of ‘dad sucks’, hm?”

 

“Saw right through that one?” Ian wasn’t sure how to do that - holster the attitude that was. He just wanted to go upstairs and toss that damn bouncy ball, do a few pull ups. Feel sorry for himself, think about his life, what he had done wrong, what he had done right - if that didn’t prove that he had changed since Mandy had turned him, he didn’t know what the actual fuck would.

 

“It’s a gift” The guy spoke through the door, Ian looking at him once again, his hand placed flatly onto the wooden surface of the door. “Especially since I can’t actually see” Ian swallowed at the spoken words, watching his eyebrows go up, waiting for a reaction. Ian should have known - should have known that his father would never let anybody see him like this, of course he had hired some blind guy to tutor his creep show son.

 

Ian didn’t want to open the door, didn’t want to make this whole thing somehow even more real than it already was. Either way, he had a feeling that this guy wouldn’t go away unless he gave up and let him inside. So Ian took a deep breath - the sound filled with annoyance - and then he opened it, letting the tutor walk inside, stick and glasses and all.

 

Once he had taken a few steps, Ian closed the door behind them both, opening his mouth.

 

“Here’s the deal. I have enough to deal with, I need to figure out how to live like this, or how to get rid of it” Ian explained, annoyance still very clear in his tone - nor did he care about the fact that Jimmy couldn’t possibly have any idea what ‘this’ meant, that wasn’t the point. Once he had closed the door and locked it, making sure that nobody would make their way inside, he took a few steps over, standing so that he could see the tutor’s face. “I don’t need my father springing things on me, but if you staying here keeps him happy and quiet for a while, so be it. As for learning algebra - I think I’ll pass”

 

After those words, Ian took large steps away, heading towards the livingroom and the kitchen, leaving Jimmy alone in the hall, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Nice to meet you…”

 

  
***

 

  
Ian had his hands tucked into the pockets of the large black sweatshirt, the night surrounding him. He wasn’t sure whether this was a good idea - going out in public, looking for her, but he didn’t see much of another choice at the moment.

 

The past two - going on three months - had been a complete and utter personal hell for him. Ian was ugly now, he was a loner, he lived in an old, creaking house - he understood it, he got it now. He knew what it was like to be like this, he knew that he had been making other people feel like absolute shit back in the day. That had to be enough, right? That had to be the point of this whole thing. To try to be a better person. To understand that he needed to be a better person. So if Ian could just have his face back, he would be a good person. He would try to be at least. That was enough, that had to be enough.

 

Ian looked down at his feet, watching them take the dark pavement, step by step. The old combat boots felt heavy on the ground, and in the distance he could hear some teenagers screaming. Or maybe they were laughing, he couldn’t quite tell all too much. He wasn't a part of it anymore. Tonight - like most of the nights since this had happened to him - he just felt… alone. Lost, and cut off from all of it. The rest of the world.

 

Which was why he entered the annual halloween party, his hood up, dipping his head down while he hoped that he would be able to find Mandy. If he could find Mandy, then hopefully she would agree to take this whole thing back. Ian had to admit that a halloween party was a pretty good opportunity, because he didn’t have to put quite as much effort into hiding his face as he would have needed to otherwise.

 

“Wow - sick” Some random freshman crossed his arms, looking up into his face - point proven. They assumed it was latex or some shit, and nobody would ever see that it was Ian. Still - any kind of reminder that Ian wasn’t… Ian. It still sucked, and it brought him that feeling in the pit of his stomach - the one he had once been so unfamiliar with. The one he had just recently realized was what they called insecurity.

 

Obviously - it wasn’t something that he had experienced a lot growing up. Ian had always been the popular guy, the rich guy and the good-looking guy. He used to love to go out, he used to love having everybody drooling over him. Dreading walking out of the house simply because he didn’t like the way that he looked - it was a new thing. Completely new. Fuck, he couldn’t go on like this.

 

“Mandy!” Ian called when he finally saw her back in the crowd. The long, black hair - seemingly even longer than usual. She didn’t look as if she was very dressed up, but then again - why would she need to wear a costume? People already assumed she was on a daily basis.

 

It was quite obvious that she had heard his voice, but she continued moving her body to the music, not giving him the time of day. Ian resisted the urge to growl, pushing himself through the crowd to get closer, reaching an arm forwards to make her to turn around.

 

“Please! Mandy! Please, make this go away, alright? I’ve learned my lesson!” Ian wasn’t sure how to make her listen other than to just say it - he had had enough. Ian had had enough of looking like this, enough of feeling like this, enough of being on the outside, he just needed it all to go away. And now. Ian needed to go back to his normal life, his normal self. Rebuild his reputation before it got worse. Maybe he would try doing it without being as mean as he had been in the past, but his point still stood.

 

“You’ve learned nothing!” Mandy’s quick, straight forwards answer almost made Ian jump backwards a step as she looked up into his eyes, red lenses placed into her eyes. Then she lifted her right hand up to his chin, her index finger scraping gently, almost as if she was casting some kind of a spell. “Find someone who can see you better than you can” Ian frowned. What the hell did that even mean?

 

“What?!” But she was already dancing away from him again, the crowd swallowing her up. Ian crossed his arms over his chest, the large hood still shielding him from the crowd a little bit. He swallowed, standing still for a little bit, thinking her words over. ‘Find someone who can see you better than you can’. What the actual hell? That didn’t make any sense.

 

Finally, Ian rolled his eyes and moved out of the crowd, walking more towards the corners of it all. Despite this being pretty much a one time opportunity to actually live somewhat of a normal night, he just wasn’t in the mood.

 

A deep sigh escaped his lips while he leaned back against one of the wooden panels at the edge of the party, closing his eyes, just for a split second. That was it - asking Mandy to take all of it back, to see that he had changed, it had been his last play. His only play. Now he was out of ideas.

 

Except for getting somebody to actually say that they loved him, which honestly - he wasn’t so sure was an easy task. Just look at him. Before this had all happened, he probably would have been able to just take a guy out on a couple of fancy dates and heard it - now? How? There was just no possible way for it to happen now. Not one scenario in which Ian could see it being a possibility.

 

Red and white lamps hung over his head - all throughout the party, actually - and it made him feel as if he was in some kind of a dream. He was standing right where the inside party transitioned into the outside, no real wall separating it at the moment. At the moment, it was all he could hope for. To wake up and to realize that this had all been some kind of twisted imagination. To wake up with his red hair and perfect skin. Fancy house. The things he had once valued to much, but now he had none of it. Ian had officially and completely - lost everything. All because of that hideous bitch. Witch. Whatever the fuck she actually was. Both.

 

Then - when Ian started dropping his own, loud thoughts a little bit, he started hearing someone talk nearby - not too close, but close enough that he could hear them clearly despite the loud music. It was one, single name that made him continue to listen.

 

“I think it was good that Ian went to rehab. Things have been so much better since he’s been gone” It was a girl - nobody Ian knew too much of, but he recognized the voice, so it had to be somebody that used to hang in his crowds. He kept his head dipped, swallowing. Maybe he shouldn’t continue to listen, but he did it anyway.

“You think so?” Somebody else said, Ian wasn’t sure who.

 

“Yeah. Being around him… he’s always been so mean, like really, really mean. I never understood it. It’s like he never cared about anything other than how he looked” Ian frowned, starting to feel some anger bubble up inside of his chest. That wasn’t true. Was it? Yeah, he had always cared about how he looked, but… not only. Right? There were other things he used to care about. Like… um… “He’s always been like that, I don’t think anyone really misses him, he’s just… gone. It feels pretty good, it’s like everybody’s nicer now. Like he pushed them into being like him or something”

 

Ian dug his teeth into the inside of his bottom lip, clenching his hands into tight fists, feeling more and more anger surge through his body. What if they were, in fact, right? What if nobody at all missed him? No one. What if Ian Gallagher was just a distant memory, what if - finally Ian couldn’t take it anymore, and he turned around, crashing his fist into one of the panels of the long folding door, admitting a low growl, unable to hold it in, feeling the pain rush through his knuckles on impact.

 

“Hey, hey. What the fuck, man?” Ian’s body recognized the voice before his brain did, and he immediately turned around again, making sure that the guy didn’t see him. Hell. Not now. It was him. The guy. The guy that Ian had felt that strange pull towards, the guy who had seemed so fucking interesting for some reason that Ian wasn’t sure of. The guy that Ian had - fuck - given a rose to.

 

Ian had just about completely forgotten about him at this point - after everything. All of the doctor visits and the hours and hours spent alone up in that room in that house, he had forgotten - forgotten that he still didn’t know his name at all. Why did he have to show up now? Ian just… Ian didn’t want him to see him like this. Which he realized didn’t make much sense, because even if he did see him, he wouldn’t know that it was Ian, but… somehow, at that moment, it made sense. And Ian ducked his head, looking down onto the ground, the hood completely shielding him off.

 

“Sorry”

 

“It’s alright” Came the voice from behind him again. “I didn’t mean to spy on you” Ian swallowed, nodding. He stood still, his hands tucked back into the pockets of his large hoodie as he was silent. He found himself wanting to hear the guy say something else, wanting to keep the conversation going. Only, Ian didn’t know what to say now - without his perfect hair and charming smile, he wasn’t sure how to really talk to people. Much less guys that were - at the moment - way more attractive than himself. Ian could somehow feel the guy’s presence behind himself, and he knew that he was still standing there, that he hadn’t walked away.

 

The two people further away continued to talk about Ian Gallagher, continued to say how much they liked the fact that he was gone, how mean he had always been. Ian would have been lying to himself if he were to say that it didn’t bother him at all. It did - all those people, they had never liked him? Not one? They had just… what? Stuck with him because he had power? Because they were scared? Crock of shit. They had loved him, worshiped him. His whole life hadn’t been a lie, that couldn’t be true. The sound was quite obvious though, every single word reaching Ian’s ears perfectly - which meant that they also reached the other guys’ ears. And right when they had both been silent for long enough that Ian was somewhat sure that the guy was getting ready to walk away again, he spoke.

 

“I think they’re wrong” Ian frowned, his lips parting a little bit in question.

 

“What?” Wrong about… wrong about him? Wrong about the fact that Ian had been such a gigantic douche? Honestly - Ian couldn’t see his past self clearly anymore, or maybe his past self was still his present self. He would like to think that he had changed since everything had gone down, since he had been turned into… this. It had been a few months, at least, and he had spent a lot of time alone. Ian had thought a lot, and now - yeah - he could realize that maybe he should have cared more about other people, maybe he shouldn’t have been as cocky, but - but he didn’t deserve to be a monster for that. He had never been one.

 

“The guy they’re talking about” He elaborated; Ian stayed with his back to him, head dipped - but he was listening. More than he ever had in the past. Maybe he wanted to know the guys’ thoughts on him, or maybe… maybe Ian just liked his voice. “People hate him because he was so sure of himself, or because he told it like it was, I don’t fucking know. No one ever said anything when he was around, but since he left… there’s been a lot of shit spread around. People saying he was a dick or whatever”

 

“And you don’t agree?” Some kind of thickness formed in Ian’s throat, and he wasn’t sure why. He just… he felt kind of… nervous? From being around this guy? He had never felt anything like it before.

 

“Nah, you know…” The guy answered through a breath, and Ian found himself wanting to turn around. Just to look at him. But he didn’t. “Personally, I kind of respect that he always seemed to call things the way he saw them - even if the ways he saw them were completely wrong” He was silent for a beat. “You know, it’s just… honest. Kind of cool”

 

Ian dipped his head a little bit further at the words, unable to help the grin that was growing on his lips; his stomach did some weird kind of flip as well. He didn’t know the guy, didn’t know his name, had never completely had an honest and long conversation with him or anything - but - maybe he liked him. Just a little bit. The guy seemed… different, somehow. From what Ian could tell, he had never been impressed by his looks, but he had just commented on his attitude. Once again, Ian could feel some pull towards him, some kind of urge to know more.

“So you’re not gossiping with them?” Ian asked, turning his head to the side - not nearly enough for the guy to see his face; or the smile that was still etched onto his parted lips - but just so that he could hear him a little bit better. The guy let out a couple of simple chuckles at that, and Ian had a feeling he was shaking his head, too - but he couldn’t be sure.

“Nah, man. It’s just…”

“Not… your thing?” Ian guessed, that nervous thickness still present in his throat while he waited for the guys’ answer. He kept his head dipped, not wanting to reveal himself. But he really, really wished that he was brave enough to turn around and have an actual conversation. Look into his eyes.

 

“That” The guy spoke. “And um… well, that” Ian laughed for a few seconds, that stupid grin still on his face as the sound blended together with the chuckles coming from the other guy. It felt so strange - just simply talking to somebody like this after so long, so many weeks spent alone, up in his room. But - it felt easy, Ian realized as well. It was easy talking to this guy, and he didn’t have to flash his smile or perfect green eyes to do it. “I’mma get going, man” The guy said, then, and Ian swallowed while he did his best to get his smile to calm down, nodding his head once. “Maybe I’ll see you around”

 

The moment after the words had reached Ian’s ears, he heard the guy move and then walk away, leaving him alone at the edge of the party once again. Ian waited for a second, just making sure the guy was far enough away not to see, but then he swallowed - and he turned his head. Not his full body, just his head. Just enough that he could see him in the distance. The perfect black hair and the legs that moved as if he owned the place.

 

Ian’s tongue slipped out of his mouth, wetting his dry, scarred lips. Now that the memory of that one guy was once again awoken inside of his brain, Ian doubted that he would be able to get him out.

 

  
***

 

  
A few hours later, Ian was up on the roof of the cold, creaking house. It wasn’t much; there weren’t any furniture or anything, but through one of the unoccupied rooms, you could climb up, and it was flat enough that it was safe to sit on. Ian hadn’t bothered to do it until tonight, he just hadn’t seen much of a point. But for some reason, now he was here, his back leaning against the open hatch, the sky around him completely and utterly black, the only light coming from streetlights in the distance. Ian’s legs were bent, knees not quite touching his chest, but almost. He had his forearms leaned onto them, just looking. Staring out over the city.

 

The air was light around him, filling his lungs easily.

 

For the first time in… - months - Ian felt better. And he wasn't all too sure why that was exactly. He didn’t feel good, he still had this heavy burden of looking like this - he couldn’t explain it. Not for the life of him, but he felt better. In fact, as he recalled the quick - and completely meaningless, really - conversation he had had with that guy before - he almost wanted to smile, grin.

 

Ian didn’t know his name, didn’t know his story, he didn’t know who he was, really. Yet, he was one of the few things on his mind as he sat up there, continuing to stare out over the city, breathing easily. Some slight form of hope collecting in his chest.

 

  
***

 

  
The muscles where Ian’s eyebrows should be drew together one morning, his body slowly starting to come out of the deep sleep he had been in, brain annoyed with the bright sun shining in through the large window. Some of the muscles in his fingertips moved as well, twitching as he slowly but surely started to wake up, realizing the hard floor underneath his body. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a bed in this house - he did - he just always seemed to somehow end up crashing in various spaces. Window-seats, spots on the floor, up on the roof - he wasn’t sure why, and he rarely made a conscious decision to try to go to sleep. He supposed he just had way too much on his mind at the moment.

 

Somewhat of an annoyed, pained sigh escaped his nose when he pushed himself up to sit, his back protesting along with his neck. His right hand lifted up to the top of his head, rubbing the skin a little bit, reminding him once again of what it looked like - it would probably always bother him; he would always miss the red hair and the flawless skin, but at this point… he had also sort of gotten used to it. Gotten used to being this hideous. He felt the deep cuts and scars on his scalp, the dips that looked as if they came from horrible injures that he had never once endured at all. He didn’t feel the tribal tattoos, of course - but he knew that they were there, adding to the mess. Then he let his hand drop down to the floor, his legs laid out on front of him, legs slightly bent at the knee, boots on the floor.

 

It had almost been an entire week since he had gone to that party to try to convince Mandy to turn him back into what he was - one week since he had seen that guy, talked to him. It had crossed Ian’s mind to try to… go for him, to try to get him to say those words to release him. Of course it had crossed his mind, but… Ian just wasn’t sure.

 

Maybe he had gotten used to the way that he looked now, somewhat at least - but that didn’t mean that other people would be like that. Ian wasn’t sure how to stand face to face with someone and have a normal conversation without flashing his charming smile, he wouldn’t be sure how to do it had he looked alright instead of hot - much less now that he was way below either of those things, it just… it wasn’t anything that he had ever done in his life, and he had no idea where to begin. If Ian were to decide to try to get that guy, then - how? It was a big and waiting question, which was why he still hadn’t done anything about it.

 

Ian’s eyes were focused on the old wooden floors, his mind somewhat of a million miles away when he heard it; the slight tapping. It wasn’t knocking, not on the front door and not on a wall inside of the house, it sounded a lot softer, longer in between the sections. Tap… tap… tap.

 

Ian placed his pale, scarred hands onto the creaking floor, pushing himself up to stand. In yesterday’s clothing - and technically the day before that as well, because he didn’t see much point in wearing clean clothes every single day when he didn’t leave the house whatsoever - he headed out of the sun washed room and down the stairs, the steps making loud noises with each time he moved, getting closer to the soft tapping noise. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest, feeling a breeze hit him, letting him onto the fact that there was most likely a window open somewhere close. He could hear the creaking of that as well - for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why his father hadn't gotten a nice house, they surely had the money for it. But then again - that was why nobody would ever think to look for him in here, which was kind of the whole point of moving in the first place.

 

The large, grey muscle tee hung off of Ian’s frame, the fabric just about reaching all the way down to his knees, the armholes so deep that some of the waistband of his skinny jeans were visible before it came together into an actual shirt again. Black skinny jeans and old, damaged tees - if that wasn’t proof enough that Ian had changed, then fuck. But honestly - it made him look slightly less pathetic with this skin and torn clothing, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

 

Ian kept his arms crossed, leaning against the filled book case, looking at Jimmy halfway across the room, not yet saying anything to alert him to the fact that his should-be student was up already. How the hell the blind tutor could throw the darts at the target and somehow make them end up at least mostly in the very middle, Ian didn’t know - he had perfect sight, and even he couldn’t do that.

 

“A blind man who sees is better than a seeing man who is blind” Ian flinched, a small gasp escaping his throat at Jimmy’s sudden words. Fuck. How the hell did he do that? How did he just sense people? Jesus christ, someday it would scare the living shit out of Ian. A couple of chuckles sounded out of the tutor’s mouth before he threw one more dart, Ian taking a second or two to recover before uncrossing his arms, letting them hang by his sides, taking a few steps further into the room, towards the blind man, making sure to stay to the side while he threw the next to last weapon in his hand. “Long as you’re up” Jimmy said then, reaching for one of the old text books resting on a chair right next to where they were standing. “Wanna learn something?”

 

Ian caught the book where he stood, leaning against another bookshelf, right behind the older man. He looked down at the cover quickly, seeing some kind of long title about history, or math, or… historic matb. Hell if he knew, he had been out of school for way too long. He made a sound deep in his throat, his scarred mouth pulling up into a bitter grin as he threw it back onto the chair, shaking his head.

 

“I’m good. How do you do that anyway?” Ian crossed his arms once again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, feeling as if they had gotten a hundred times more dry since this whole thing had begun.

 

“It’s a gift and a curse” Jimmy shrugged, amusement present in his voice.

 

“Bite me” Ian barked halfheartedly, the tutor walking across the room towards the target, feeling around for a minute before finding the darts and picking them out of the material.

 

“Oh, you have the humor of a possum” The man said, walking back once again, surprisingly enough ending up in just about the exact same spot on the floor before he started throwing them once again, only seeming to become better this time around. Ian dug his fingertips into the scarred skin of his arms, just a little bit as he watched, the silence filling the room for a moment.

 

The words were on the tip of Ian’s tongue, and he wasn’t sure whether he should say them or not - he hadn’t really talked to Jimmy about anything in the weeks since he had moved in, much less about something half-important. But truthfully - Ian was becoming bored now, lonely - and there were a lot of thoughts circling around in his head, questions that would be good to have some kind of answers to, whether said answers were the ones he wanted or not. And the tutor seemed kind of smart, not just in a bookish way, but sometimes he said things that made Ian think, so -

 

“Growing up, my father always said that your value is only based off of what you look like” Jimmy stilled, hand and dart in the air while he listened. “That that’s the only reason people like you or don’t like you, but I heard that… they… hated me” It didn’t make any sense - how could the people that Ian had once spent so much time with, how could they now that he wasn’t around anymore, just spread shit about him. And honestly - what motive would they have for lying? Really? None - which meant that the stuff that he had heard at that party a week ago, it had to have been the truth.

 

Jimmy was silent for another moment, then unfroze and he threw the dart at the target.

 

“High school - unquestionably - sucks ass” Ian frowned, watching the sharp object end up in the very middle, then seeing the older man pick another dart up, moving his arm and hand a little bit in the air to get the right angle.

 

“You went to regular school?” Ian wasn’t sure why, but he had just assumed that Jimmy was some home-schooled nerd, if not for the fact that he was blind then because of the geekish, bookish personality. The tutor just nodded once though.

 

“At sixteen, my friends lost their virginity - I lost my sight” The sentence was punctuated by the tap of the next dart landing perfectly in the middle of the target, Ian moving his gaze to the colors for a minute. “There is somewhat of a silver-lining to it all, though” Jimmy spoke then, his voice sounding somewhat less sarcastic this time, Ian frowning in confusion, watching him throw the last dart before the younger man took a few steps forwards, starting to walk over to the target to take them all out of the material.

 

“What, alerted hearing?” He asked, though sarcasm dripping off of his tone as he placed his left hand onto the target as leverage, pulling the three darts out one by one, then turning around again.

 

“Chicks dig blind guys” Jimmy said with a smirk on his lips, choosing to ignore Ian’s remark. Ian rolled his eyes, reaching a hand forwards and wrapping it around his tutor’s wrist, turning his hand upwards to help him find the darts.

 

“Yeah, well” Ian said. “Too bad people don’t dig ugly guys” This time his words were soaked in bitterness and pessimism rather than sarcasm, and he felt some kind of stab on his heart - the thought - or rather bulletproof fact - that nobody would never love him, would never get him out of this, it shouldn’t hurt him as badly as it did - god fucking damn it.

 

Ian was about to let go of his tutor’s wrist and walk back to lean against the bookcase, but Jimmy’s hand still held his, stopping him, his face growing more serious for a minute. At least Ian thought that’s what he saw - he was still wearing those sun glasses, so the only feature he could clearly see that could hold some kind of emotion was his mouth as the dark glass also covered up a lot of his eyebrows.

 

“How do you know?” Jimmy asked, sounding completely serious. Ian looked at him, swallowing as their hands slipped apart, the younger man crossing his arms. Honestly? Ian wasn’t sure what to say to that - he didn’t have a set answer. The whole ‘people are only worth their faces’ logic was still branded into his brain, of course - but it was more than that.

 

Thinking back to what Svetlana had said a while ago, when he had asked her if he was really this bad of a person, that he deserved this - he was starting to think that she had sugarcoated things. That maybe he really did. And if he was a person who deserved this, then he couldn’t have all that much to admire on the inside - quite obviously. And he no longer had anything to admire on the outside, so… what was he left with? Nothing.

 

Ian shook it off, though, shrugging despite the fact that the other man couldn’t see it. The air lightened a little bit again as he walked back towards the bookcase, leaning against it, Jimmy getting one of the darts ready once again, nailing this one too.

 

“What are you saying? That looks don’t matter?” Ian couldn’t help but ask - honestly, he had heard that a few times, but he had always laughed at it. Of course looks mattered, it was all that mattered. His entire life - everyone’s life today, really - revolved around looks.

 

Not only a human beings physical appearance, but their house, their car, their clothes, their fucking television - looks. The entire world revolved around that stuff, everybody knew that. The whole ‘looks don’t matter thing’ was only something ugly people said to make themselves feel better. Ian believed that, even today, and he refused to become one of those ugly people who said or thought anything to make themselves feel better. Still - Jimmy was smart, so when he spoke, Ian listened.

 

“Of course looks matter” The tutor shook his head, almost as if Ian was stupid.

 

“Even to you?” Ian was well aware of the fact that it was a stupid question - a person Jimmy met could look like Justin Bieber or Donald Trump, he would never be able to tell. But Ian just wasn’t sure exactly where the older man was going with all of this.

 

“Yeah” Jimmy said easily, throwing one more dart at the target. “But it’s not about how other people look at me, it’s about how I look at myself” Ian frowned at the words. What the actual hell? What did that even mean? Almost as if the tutor could sense his confusion, he chuckled deep down in his throat, throwing the last dart before crossing his arms over his chest, easily turning around to face the younger man, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. “Mental rubik’s cube, I know” Ian swallowed, his bare eyebrows drawing together, frown lines joining the scars in his forehead. “One day it will make sense.”

 

  
***

 

  
It was about two days - or maybe it was three; honestly, every single moment since the night that had fucked his entire life up, his perception of time had been pretty warped as well; mostly because he literally did nothing all day - later that Ian finally gathered up the courage to decide. Decide that he was going to try to do this somehow; he wasn’t all too sure how it was going to go, and he didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he would figure out a way to get closer to the guy somehow. Ian couldn’t be sure that he would make him love him - hell, he doubted that he would even have the courage to show his face, but - unless Ian wanted to be one hundred percent certain of the fact that he would stay like this forever, he would need to at least try. ‘Find someone who can see you better than you can’ that’s what the witch had said.

 

As Ian found that one black hoodie and threw it on over his black tank top, zipping it up, he still wasn’t sure what it meant. What role those words played in his own personal hell, but - maybe it was alike what Jimmy had said the other day - _‘One day it will make sense’._

 

Ian doubted that, too - however, at this point in his life, he honestly didn’t have anything to lose. He lived a lonely, miserable life in an old, creaking house, and - he was uglier than anybody he had ever met. So any kind of step in the right direction, even if it wouldn’t get him anywhere in the end, maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe it could be a good thing.

 

Ian wasn’t sure of the time of day any more than he could be sure of whether it was a saturday or a thursday, but it was late - so late that when he looked out through one of the old windows, the only thing he could see was his own scarred, damaged skin. The bald head full of cuts and ugly tribal tattoos that he only wanted to get rid of. What he wouldn’t do to wake up from all of this, fuck. He stood there for a minute, the large, dark hood of his sweatshirt framing his face. Then suddenly, he just turned around and his combat boot-clad feet walked out of the empty room, down the stairs. The creaking filled his ears for a moment, but he did his best not to walk too fast and to keep his steps soft - Svetlana was asleep nearby, and Ian doubted that his should-be tutor was awake either.

 

They weren’t his parents, but he knew that they would ask questions if they saw him exit the house in the middle of the night, and this was something he needed to do on his own. Not that he knew exactly what ‘this’ was going to end up being. Ian didn’t know the guys’ name, he didn’t know anything about him really, so maybe he wouldn’t even find him, and if he did - what were the odds that he would be able to gather up enough courage to talk to someone just face to face, looking like this? It wasn’t all that large.

 

Either way, Ian couldn’t stay up in that room forever. Beautiful, ugly or something else - he was smart enough to realize this.

 

Ian curled his scarred hand around the handle of the front door, doing it incredibly slowly as said door was the thing that made the most noise in this entire house - and that said a lot, because the other doors and the stairs were terrible. Ian didn’t even want to know when this house was originally built, probably over a thousand years ago or some shit, that’s what it felt like.

 

Ian’s boots soon hit the stone surface outside, and he turned around, closing the door back up and locking it with the small, antique-looking key. The house wasn’t all that in the middle of nowhere - in fact, there were stores and other houses on either side of it. But it was a part of town that Ian had never been familiar with before - because of how cheap shit was, and how far away he used to live before this thing had happened to him - which was probably why it felt as if he lived in the middle of the sahara desert. Well, that - and the fact that he somewhat by choice barely had any human interaction with anybody at all. Save for Svetlana and Jimmy, but - that was another thing.

 

Ian took the three stone steps easily, stepping onto the sidewalk where he stopped for a beat. The streetlights around him flickered a little bit, but they were good enough that he could see around himself. There weren’t many people out - in fact, he couldn’t really see anybody at all at the moment. A few of the stores on the other side of the street were open, he noted, which meant that it couldn’t be all that late yet. Maybe eleven, or midnight.

 

For a minute, Ian stood still - he wasn’t sure where to go, not sure where to begin. Then again, he knew literally nothing about this guy, so finally he hitched his hood further up around his head, hiding himself even more before he placed his hands back into his pockets, starting to walk. His boots hit the sidewalk over and over again, carrying him further and further away from the old house with every single step - this was idiotic, really - insane. Ian had no fucking idea what this guys’ name was, where he lived - of even if he was into guys, for that matter. Back when Ian had been, well… Ian - he had never worried about whether a hot guy identified as gay or not, because he had been confident enough to believe that if they didn’t, he could easily flip them, at least momentarily. That had been his mindset for the longest time - he had believed that he was hot enough to get anything or anyone, and technically, he had been, too.

 

Now? Now Ian was… this. And if Mandy was telling the truth, then the only way to get out of it was to get someone to fall in love with him, but even if Ian were to somehow gather up the strength, or the courage to show himself like this to someone, he doubted that anybody in the entire world would be able to look past this, to talk to him without being completely grossed out.

 

And if so - love? That was a far, far cry from just having a conversation with someone. If Ian had been given two or three years, then maybe. Maybe he would have found a way, maybe he could have become more secure with looking like this, maybe he would have gained some confidence and maybe he would have been able to make it happen. One year was nothing. Not to mention the fact that he had wasted almost three full months locked up inside of his room, doing nothing to try to get rid of this. Ian had days filled with nothing, and he had a guy that he might be interested in, so - what harm was trying? At least a little bit.

 

  
***

 

  
Ian walked and he walked - it had to have been at least two hours at this point - his hands stayed tucked deep into his pockets, the hood staying on his head, hiding him from the few people he walked past. Some of them were teenagers out for a good time, some of them were middle aged people, rushing to get home from the nightshift - at least that’s what Ian supposed. He was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t a very good tactic, just moving around town, hoping that he might run into the guy, randomly. But he moved in the right areas - the areas with half apartment buildings, close to the school. He recalled the guy at some point mentioning that he had to work a lot to pay rent, so to Ian it was a good guess. Then again - maybe he was already inside and asleep at this point.

 

And anyway - looking for him wasn’t the only reason Ian was outside at this hour. If he was being honest, it just felt kind of good to have the air on his damaged skin, to breathe something else than the stuffy, dusty air that filled the entire house that he lived in now. He had realized the fact that if he wanted to go outside for a long period of time and not be noticed by anybody - nighttime was a good time to do so. Honestly, Ian hated how closed off he felt. How he had to come up with all of these ways to hide - he got it now.

 

Ian sort of understood that he had made other people feel like shit, that some of the things he used to say, some of the things he had been taught growing up - maybe… maybe they weren’t all that correct. But at the same time, he was miserable. Ian felt like less than, and it wasn’t a good feeling. Being ugly affected every single part of his life, made him not really have one - and with that he also realized that that had to mean that his good looks used to affect his entire life.

 

Ever since that one, strange night, Ian’s life had been turned upside down, and his brain wasn’t much better. Jumbled up thoughts and weird, half-assed realizations that he didn’t care to deal with - he was a mess.

 

There.

 

Ian ducked back into an alleyway, his thought trail dropping as he saw him; he must have walked past this area at least two times now, but he had never once looked up. Randomly, he had just lifted his head a little bit and looked at the windows of the old, red brick building.

 

There he was - the guy - sitting on one of the highest floors. Ian couldn’t quite tell what he was doing, he was too far away. Too high up, but - he looked as if he was studying, or reading, or writing - something along those lines. The guy had a few lights on around him, allowing Ian to see him perfectly. Ian didn’t even care if this was creepy - if he was going to try to find a way to get this guy, then he had to know more. He was leaning against the brick wall of the alley, the hood still surrounding his face, making it impossible for anybody to see his skin from any angle except from straight ahead.

 

Ian continued looking up, just studying him. Studying the way he had his head just slightly tilted to the side as he looked down at something. Hell. He was beautiful. Even more so now that Ian could actually take the time to look without worrying about being caught. Maybe - maybe this guy was even more beautiful than Ian. The old Ian - that was, he was obviously more beautiful than this one. There was just something about him. Something that seemed impossible for Ian to shake. He didn’t think about him twenty four seven, but when he was in fact in his presence - even like this - Ian felt it. Felt that small, tiny smile tug at the edges of his lips and felt his heart speed up, even just a little bit.

 

The guy moved, maybe flipping the page of a book or something, and then he tilted his head a little bit more to the side - yeah, Ian realized - he was reading. Ian swallowed. He couldn’t see perfect details from here, of course - couldn’t see the individual strands of his hair, or the striking blue color he knew that his eyes carried.

 

Tonight would obviously not be the night when Ian would gather up the courage to talk to him, but after seeing his face again - even if it was from incredibly far away - Ian knew. That guy, he was it.

 

  
***

 

  
Over the past few weeks, this kind of weird thing had happened. Ian, Svetlana and Jimmy had become somewhat of a family - they ate together, watched television together. They didn’t talk all that much, but in Ian’s mind that was all kind of the definition of it. It wasn’t that Ian considered them his parents or something - hell no - they were more like… roommates? Hell if he knew.

 

Either way, the next morning - like most - they were all sitting around the old, creaking kitchen table, breakfast foods placed on top of it. Ian poured a large glass of orange juice, hearing his should-be tutor clear his throat before doing the same.

 

“So” Jimmy spoke. “I heard you sneaking in last night, where did you go?” Ian sighed at the question - why the fuck did it matter? Honestly, the last thing he wanted to do was tell anybody about this whole thing he was thinking about. If he wanted to try to get closer to this guy, he couldn’t get his hopes up. Ian looked up from his food, only focusing on Jimmy for a beat before moving his eyes to Svetlana, raising his eyebrows. She just shrugged, though, a slight smile on her lips that let him know that she also would like to know where he went.

 

“Isn’t the point of having no parents supposed to be - that you have no parents?” Ian complained - or stalled - before wrapped a large, scar covered hand around a coffee cup, lifting it up to his lips and feeling the strong, black liquid pour down his throat and burn his insides just enough to wake him up for the day - not that he had much to do. Alas - finally, he shook his head a little bit, looking down into his plate, cracking. “I went to see about this guy” He mumbled.

 

“Oh, good for you!” Svetlana seemed immediately happy, placing a hand onto his shoulder, almost like a silent ‘atta boy’. Ian shrugged, though, shaking his head once more. He didn’t want for them to smile or congratulate him or some shit - it wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t talked to him at all - still didn’t know his name. This whole thing was still very much in the planning stage - that was if Ian would ever gather up the courage to even try to bring it further, which he doubted at this point. Ian would really like to keep it mostly to himself.

 

“I didn’t even talk to him” Ian admitted, trying not to think about how much he wanted to do just that again. How much he wanted to look into those blue eyes - fuck. Ian had a feeling that even if he hadn’t been turned into this, he still would have had a hard time trying to stay away from that guy. He was… perfect. And from what Ian could tell from the short, five minute conversation he had had with him at the masquerade party - not just on the outside.

 

“Baby steps, Ian” Jimmy reminded him, an encouraging tone in his voice. “Baby steps”

 

  
***

 

  
Baby steps. Alright. As much as Ian tried to only listen to himself - he had his entire life, really, not just since the witch had turned him - his tutor’s words stuck with him the entire day. In a way, he supposed that he understood it. Somewhat. It wasn’t as if he could go up to the guy and ask him on a date, then just have him say those words.

 

That wasn’t gonna happen.

 

Not with Ian looking like this, and he doubted that the guy was the kind of person who would be easily persuaded either - it just wasn’t the vibe that he got off of him. So in conclusion - in Ian’s current opinion, maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe baby steps were exactly what he needed to be taking to get closer to this guy.

 

Which was why a night or two later, Ian was out once again. And then the night after that, he did the same thing. Three nights in a row, Ian walked to that alley and looked up, and the guy would always be sitting there, reading. At least that’s what Ian guessed he was doing. Ian was somewhat aware of the fact that what he was doing could be considered stalking - but he didn’t mean any harm, or anything of the sort. Ian just wanted to find out more.

 

Honestly - getting rid of this curse was only a small part of why he was doing this anyway. This guy was special - Ian didn’t know him well enough to know why or anything but, he could just feel it somehow. Ever since the first day they had talked. Not that he was his soulmate or some weird shit like that - but he knew just enough that he was realizing that he wouldn’t mind knowing even more.

 

On the fourth night, Ian as usual had his hood over his head, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the brick wall of the alley; he swallowed and he looked up, only - this time, the guy wasn’t there.

 

Ian frowned - not because it was strange, obviously nobody would ever do the same exact thing a hundred nights in a row, but because he was actually quite disappointed. Ian was tempted to wait, wait to see if he showed up soon, but that would be crossing the line a little bit, maybe - even more so than just standing in an alley and looking because the guy happened to be there.

 

So right as Ian was getting ready to admit defeat - after maybe at least five minutes of standing there, waiting to see if he would show up, as ashamed as he was to admit it - he swallowed, backing up a little bit, starting to turn around.

 

Then - however - he caught sight of something. Because there, in the damaged, well-lit stairwell of the apartment building, he was. Walking out towards the door and the street. Ian ducked into the alley again, pressing against the wall; there wasn’t a big chance that the guy would see him, of course, but Ian didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t want him realizing that he had been watching, and he even less wanted him to see his face before Ian had made a conscious decision that he was ready to show it to him - or anybody other than Svetlana and Jimmy, really. Well, technically just Svetlana, but his point still stood.

 

Ian bit the inside of his cheek, watching the guy exit the building and immediately turn right, starting to walk down the sidewalk in the darkness, seeming determined and sure of where he was going. Of course - Ian should turn around. Of course he should go home and find his phone number and ask him out or something - he should do something that was normal to do. Creeping in the shadows, feeling like Ted Bundy wasn’t a normal thing to do. But these days - with Ian’s skin, and with how he spent his days - nothing about him was normal anymore.

 

Which was why - before he had much time to overthink it at all - he started walking. Fast, he crossed the street, his feet hitting the pavement softly - thank fucking god. Ian didn’t have a plan, he didn’t know why he was following this guy; maybe he just wanted to find out more. Where was he going at whatever a clock? It was late - that much Ian knew.

 

If he knew where he was going, then maybe he could find out more and in that way think of a way to catch his attention. Yes - it was a little bit excessive, and no, it didn’t make too much sense, but now it was too late. Ian was already following him, walking fast, face hidden, hands tucked into his pockets - he knew what he looked like, knew what this seemed like, but he didn’t have any bad intentions at all. All he knew about this guy was that he didn’t care all too much about looks and that he liked roses. That was it. Oh, and he read books sometimes. That was a hell of a lot to go on, wasn’t it? Ian still didn’t even know his damn name.

 

They didn’t get very far at all before the guy ducked into a well-lit store, and Ian immediately stopped, leaning against the wall and picking the phone out of his pocket. It was almost out of battery, but he couldn’t very well follow the guy into the store, it seemed to be pretty little - and nobody ever questioned a guy in a shady black hoodie when he was holding a cellphone. So Ian just held it, looking down at the black screen, moving his thumbs every once in a while to make it believable. However - he listened - he was one hundred and ten perfect aware of everything that went on around him. Every sound, every car, every door.

 

After a few moments - maybe three, four minutes - he looked up, just seeing what kind of sign was above the store, because Ian had never really been to this part of town before. Only to look for this guy, and he didn’t look in windows like this one. A convenience store, he noted - he had one closer to where he lived as well. Growing up, he had a feeling a lot of people spent time in these places. Buying small things, coke, candy, whatever - Ian had never been like that. He had almost felt as if he was too good for any kind of hole in the wall places - which was stupid, of course - looking back at it, it didn’t make much sense at all.

 

One minute later, the door to the store opened again, and he walked out. Ian turned around, looking down at the pavement to hide his face even more. For a beat, it was quiet. And Ian, he was scared the guy recognised him from the party - even though the guy had never seen his face, with the black hoodie, the build of his body, his height - it was possible.

 

But then again, it wasn’t exactly an original look and soon, Ian heard the steps leading away from him anyway, back towards the apartment building. Thank fucking god. Ian turned back around, just quickly catching sight of the objects in the guys’ hands as he walked away - a book and a plastic wrapped cup of ramen noodles; a snickers bar as well. The book he obviously hadn’t bought in there, but Ian for some reason chose to make a mental note of his food choices - not that it would probably matter. Maybe he was going insane with all of this, hell if he knew.

 

Despite his better judgement, Ian continued following. He walked after the guy, making sure to keep the same great amount of distance in between them, just so that he - or anybody else for that matter - wouldn’t catch onto the fact that he was literally stalking him. That was such a harsh word. Ian knew what he was doing was wrong, that anybody would be freaked out of they had somebody following them, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted - needed - to know more about this guy, and he couldn’t exactly go up to him and ask, not with his face - so yes, this was how he was doing it at the moment.

 

About a block from the apartment, though - Ian started hearing voices. He couldn’t see the guy anymore, because he had turned a corner, and he didn’t want to catch up to him too fast, but he did know that some of the words were coming out of his mouth. He recognized his voice.

 

“Man, calm down, alright? We’ll get you your fucking money. Soon” Ian knitted his bare eyebrows together, frowning as he leaned against the brick wall, still not wanting to turn the corner. The guy and whoever he was talking to, they were close. The last thing Ian wanted to do was interrupt them.

 

“You don’t think Terry has told us that a million times before, huh?” Someone else said. “He never pays us, so now he’s paying” Ian swallowed, clenching his fists in his pockets, staring down at the ground as he listened. What the actual hell? These guys, they almost sounded like scary mafia type bosses - or lone sharks, or something of that kind. Ian wasn’t very familiar with that kind of world at all, not outside of television.

 

“Leave us alone. You’ll get. Your fucking money. As soon as possible” Ian heard the guy say, and despite not knowing him at all, he could sense that he was beginning to become irritated - more than, most likely. His voice was breathy and it was strong, angry. Ian swallowed, continuing to stay still, listening in, waiting.

 

Waiting for something to happen, waiting for the moment when he would figure out what to do. They all - he counted four or five voices including the guys’ - continued talking, none of it anywhere near close to civil, but they weren’t screaming. It was another kind of malice. Ian realized that at least one of them was on the guys’ side - Terry, maybe, although it seemed as if that man was the one who got him into this in the first place - but at least Ian’s crush wasn’t completely alone in whatever was going down. Crush? Could he even call it that yet? Oh, fucking hell - this wasn’t the time.

 

The low sound of a fist hitting a face tore Ian out of whatever planet he lived on and before he could think it through, he had his hands out of his pockets, running around the corner and towards the outside metal staircase where he saw them. All of it was kind of a blur, and for some reason, all Ian could possibly think about was making sure that the guy wasn’t being murdered or something, he wanted to keep him safe - it didn’t make any sense. But the guy was the only person he knew even remotely in the group, so maybe it did make some sort of sense. In any case, he wasn’t thinking all that straight. More punches were thrown in between the time that he rounded the corner and got there.

 

There he was - on the ground, knocked out with a bloody nose as the other men continued beating each other up, fighting on the staircase, all of them only moments from falling down from it, surely. A part of Ian’s body itched to get up there and end it, but his legs moved towards the limp body on the ground, and he just wanted to get him way from it all.

 

Ian easily swept him up in his arms, carrying him bridal style - which was surprisingly easy thanks to his size - and he ran along the sidewalk, heading towards the door that he knew lead to the apartment building where the guy lived. Even years from that moment - Ian wouldn’t be able to tell you what exactly went through his mind - maybe it was adrenaline of some sort, or maybe it was just the urge to protect what he sort of wanted to be his, either way, he just ran and ran until he could finally push against that door and walk inside, laying the guy down onto a few of the steps right inside.

 

The lights were still bright in the ceiling, so Ian swallowed, unable not to take another moment. Just to look at him, just to study his features. Yeah, he was asleep - well, knocked out, technically, but Ian knew he would be awake soon - but he had never seen him like this before.

 

The guy wasn’t moving, it wasn’t dark. It was a good opportunity for Ian to just look. So that’s what he did, he couldn't help it.

 

The guys’ eyebrows were more defined, even more perfect than Ian had ever noticed before, the skin of his face looking smooth and pale - almost like porcelain. His lips were just as large and beautiful as they always were, the long black eyelashes matching the color of his dark hair. Fuck - Ian didn’t know his name, didn’t know anything, but hell if this wasn’t the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his entire life.

 

Ian’s tongue darted out, and he swallowed, bringing a hand up to his hairline.

 

It was a loud gunshot that brought him off of whatever oblivious planet he had been staying on for the past few moments, and Ian jumped at the sound, looking out through the glass door, realizing that this wasn’t over just because he had managed to get this guy out of harms way for the moment. He didn’t technically have to go back, but in a way he felt responsible somehow - hell if he knew why. With one last look to the still limp body on the steps, Ian stood up and walked back out.

 

For some reason - Ian had expected to find Terry dead, maybe alone, draped over a couple of steps while the other guys had escaped. But that’s not what he saw. A few of the guys looked extremely similar, dressed the same, so it was easy for Ian to figure out who was on the guys’ side, and who wasn’t. In fact, the man that he assumed was Terry, was the only one who was still alive, bloody bodies all around him, gun in a pale, damaged hand, still aimed at one of the bodies.

 

Ian should have run away, he should have gone back home or whatever, forgot all about this night. Just because he looked like a monster, or just because he looked as if he had been to a terrible war, that didn’t mean that he had any experience with things like this whatsoever. He didn’t know what to do.

 

Terry seemed somewhat calm - maybe a little bit shaky - that was, until he spotted Ian where he stood, on one of the two lower steps, looking up at him. Seeing the blood and the gun and everything - their eyes connected, and in that moment, they both knew it.

 

Either Terry killed Ian - right here, right now - or Ian walked away knowing one of the biggest secrets of his life.

 

“I’m not…” The man begun, looking at Ian. At the moment, Ian didn’t give a shit that he was seeing his face, maybe it was even to somewhat of his advantage, and this guy didn’t have any kind of play in his life anyway, so it didn’t matter. “You saved him” Ian didn’t say anything, just looked. He didn’t know what to say, honestly. He was all but familiar with situations like this one, fuck. “What do you want?”

 

“I want him” The words had slipped out of Ian’s mouth, dark and muttered, way before they had passed through his brain even the slightest bit. It was true, though. “I want to protect him” Ian wanted that guy, he wanted to have him, but more so, he wanted to keep him safe.

 

That beautiful face, those clever remarks he had had the other night, all that knowledge about roses. What Ian didn’t know about the guy could fill a book - or five or ten, most likely - but the few things he did know filled his brain, just about every single day. And he couldn’t stand the thought of that guy being in any kind of danger.

 

“You can’t have Mickey, I can take care of Mickey” Terry shook his head, looking down at the ground, probably seeing the blood-soaked metal beneath his feet.

 

“Obviously you can’t” Ian said coldly. Then he picked his phone out of his pocket, quickly snapping a few shorts of the crime scene and of the older man a few steps up on the shaky staircase. Ian wasn’t looking at his face, but he noted his body tensing up. Ian had all and any control now - he had evidence; of this night, of the murders, accident or not - he didn’t care. Maybe it was cold to use this against someone like this, but Ian was running out of time. And to some degree - he was still the same guy he had always been. Selfish. “Are we agreed?” Ian asked then, voice even darker than before.

 

“Yes” The man said, and it was obvious that it was painful for him to say it. “Yes, we’re agreed”

 

“Good” Was the last thing Ian said before he stepped down from the stair case and adjusted the black hoodie, making sure his face was completely hidden from view as he started running down the dark, empty street.

 

  
***

 

  
It was about a day later, maybe two - that Ian was sitting at the top of the stairs, quite hidden from view. His hand was curled around a part of the staircase, scarred thumb moving up and down, peeling away small pieces of the white paint, revealing the cheap, brown wood that was underneath. Mickey wasn’t here yet - but he would be.

 

Mickey. Something happened inside of Ian every time he thought of the name - that was it. Mickey.

 

Ian was well aware of the fact that what he was doing, and how he was choosing to go about it wasn’t completely within a good moral square. In a way, he had stalked Mickey, watched him and waited for an opportunity to get him into his house - but you could also say that he had only ‘stalked’ him because he was embarrassed about his appearance and he didn’t want to freak Mickey out - and honestly, while Ian did of course want the guy in his house, he wanted to have him close so that he could get to know him better, figure out a way to get out of this, get rid of looking like this - while all of those reasons were selfish, he had other reasons as well.

 

People had died the other night, and from the looks of Mickey’s father - Terry, was it? - he seemed to care about Mickey, but Ian doubted that those lone sharks were the only people who were after the family. So Ian hadn’t at all been lying when he had said that he wanted to protect Mickey. He did. He cared about him. For some reason.

 

Ian swallowed, continuing to pick at the flakes, watching them fall to the floor, small pieces getting jammed underneath his short nails as his mind was anywhere and everywhere else. That was - until the doorbell rang, and he looked up, trying to get himself not to be this nervous.

 

What did he have to be nervous about anyway? It wasn’t as if he was going to let Mickey see him or anything - not like this, at least. Not anytime soon. Svetlana knew this, so she came walking out into the hall, towards the door and Ian reached behind himself, picking the hood up so that it was covering his head, moving backwards to be even more out of sight. So that he could see the door through the railing, but the people by the door wouldn’t be able to see him unless they looked really closely.

 

“Lana” Ian said, making her turn around with her hand on the handle. “Crow. Remember. Crow, not Ian. Crow” Svetlana nodded, assuring him that she understood - there wasn’t much of a reason for her to say his name at all, but one of the worst things that could happen was her slipping up and calling him Ian - it would blow fucking everything, something he did not need right now. When he looked like this, he was Crow. Ian would hopefully be back at some point, but he couldn’t mix up the two lives more than he already had.

 

So as Svetlana turned back around once again, opening the door and Ian creeped back even more, dipping his head and looking. There he was. Mickey - Terry too, since he was dropping him off, but Ian was only looking at Mickey - he walked into the house, steps heavy. It was quite obvious that he was angry, upset with the situation, and understandably so, Ian supposed. He couldn’t have much of an idea of what was going on; he doubted that his father would have told him every single thing that went on that night after Ian had carried Mickey out of harms way.

 

What father would want his son to know that he was handing him off to a stranger because said stranger was blackmailing him - but also, Mickey would be safe here. Ian was safe here. It was an old house where nobody would ever think to look. Not for Mickey, and certainly not for Ian. It was a good plan; Ian didn’t have any kind of intentions other than to befriend the guy, and continue keeping him out of harms way. For now, at least.

 

“Things are gonna be good here, Mickey.” Ian heard Terry say, to which his son just crossed his arms, staying standing, facing the inside of his house, giving the older man his back. Ian swallowed, looking at Mickey. Maybe this was the wrong situation to be considering these things, but he looked so fucking good. Better than good, in fact - with the loose fitted light washed jeans and the old, grey band t shirt. His hair - from what Ian remembered - had always had product in it. Some kind at least, but now the dark strands looked a lot softer, messier. And his eyebrows were knitted, face otherwise relaxed, indifferent.

 

“I have never heard about this fucking friend of yours once in my entire life, and now you’re just throwing me into his house?” Mickey turned around to face his father now, ignoring Svetlana who took a few steps back, letting them have their heartfelt goodbye - or not. Ian was still so out of view that he couldn’t even see everything perfectly clearly, but he could see enough. He made sure to be completely quiet, only breathing once in a while when he really needed to.

 

“Mickey, it’s to keep you - “

 

“You can get the fuck outta here. And don’t call me, you hear me?” Ian couldn’t see Mickey’s face as he was turned towards Terry and away from the stairs, but he supposed that he looked just as angry as he sounded. Perfect eyebrows probably raised. Things were quiet for a second, and then Ian registered the movement of Terry’s head moving up and down in agreement.

 

“Alright, Mickey. Long as I know you’re safe” After that, Mickey snorted in disbelief and turned back around, not wanting to see his face anymore. Terry looked to Svetlana, who just nodded, assuring him that his son was going to be just fine. Then the older man seemed to take a breath, turning around and walking out of the house, leaving Mickey behind.

 

Ian swallowed, continuing to look at him. The way in which his arms were crossed over his chest, the look of annoyance on his face, the look of anger and disappointment. Ian chewed at the inside of his scarred cheek, frowning at he watched Mickey take a few steps forwards, digging his fingertips into his arms, looking out in front of him - he didn’t know where Ian was, but it was obvious that’s who he was talking to when he opened his mouth.

 

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, man. But if you come near me, I’ll fuck you up, we clear?” Ian sighed silently, clenching the railing tighter and leaning his forehead against it.

 

This was going to be a difficult task to complete.

 

  
***

 

  
What task, exactly?

 

Ian hadn’t truly and completely figured it out yet. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to just do everything he could to get this guy to fall in love with him just straight off the bat - which would be difficult, because either he would have to keep his face hidden, or he would have to show it - neither of which would help him.

 

Ian supposed he could also attempt to just try to become Mickey’s friend, and not have any ulterior motives - but that wouldn’t help him get rid of this fucking skin and face and lonely, closed off life. Ian had wasted a lot of weeks - months - just walking around this house, sulking. There was less than a year left until he had to hear those words to be able to go back to what he used to be - physically - and it was a short amount of time.

 

A really short amount of time, looking like this. Especially since he now realized he didn’t have a whole lot of people skill - before he could always flash his smile and green eyes and get whatever - or whoever - the hell he wanted. It wasn’t exactly like that for him anymore.

 

This dilemma was the reason why an entire day after Mickey had arrived to the house, Ian was still in the middle of the floor of the semi-empty bedroom, on his back, staring up into the ceiling. It was obvious to himself that he was wasting a hell of a lot more time than he should be, but this entire thing was surreal - from the spell to the rules to the fact that Ian had somehow managed to find a guy he was truly, and completely interested in.

 

“Ian?” Ian sat up quickly, looking over to the door as Svetlana entered, a big cardboard box in her arms. He stood up then, his combat-boot clad feet leading him over to her. “I have it now, but I have to tell you - “

 

“Just give it” Ian said - not for the sole purpose of being rude, but he knew by the tone of her voice that she wanted to give him some kind of advice, and he didn’t want it. If he still hadn’t gotten anywhere in a few days, then maybe he would ask her - or Jimmy, because quite frankly he always seemed to say those things that made Ian’s brain spin for the better. Svetlana shrugged, handing the present over before nodding her head and turning back around, exiting the room again.

 

Ian sighed, looking after her for a small beat before he sunk back down onto the sun soaked old wooden floors, bringing the box with him. To be honest - Ian wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but in the past, things like this had worked with other guys he had wanted to get with, so it was worth a try.

 

He carefully placed his hands on either sides of the lid, lifting it off of the box. There it was. The black, beautiful, completely new genuine leather. The jacket had been so expensive that Ian had almost thought twice about buying it - almost - but then he realized that despite the fact that his father had cut off a couple of his bank accounts, he still had a fuck ton of money to spend, and what was better than spending it at a small shot of getting his life back? That was the way in which he saw it, at least - besides, Mickey would look really fucking good in this.

 

After Ian had studied the piece of clothing for a beat, he put it back into the box and covered it, lifting it with him as he stood up.

 

The room that Mickey was staying in was pretty much all the way across the house, so Ian took long, yet somehow nervous steps across the old floors, trying to get himself to calm down. The staircase on the other side of the house was pretty much identical to the one by the front door, so Ian walked up the steps, trying to make sure that they didn’t creak all too much as he moved.

 

Then he stood in front of the door, hesitating for only a moment before he bent down, placing the boxed up gift onto the door step, his scarred knuckles hitting the old wood of the door three times before he hurried out of the way, hiding. His hood was pulled up over his face, but he could see the door just fine while he waited.

 

It didn’t take many seconds before the door opened, Mickey appearing; eyebrows raised and furrowed when he found nobody outside. He looked around for a small beat, and then down, noticing the large box. From what Ian could see - which wasn’t a lot now that Mickey was looking down - his eyebrows furrowed further, and he eased down, placing his hands on either side of the lid, lifting it up.

 

Ian smiled at he watched him - waiting for the smile, or really any kind of look of appreciation on his face. That didn’t happen. Instead Mickey reached into the box, lifting the leather up and holding it in front of him. It was a nice jacket - expensive, beautiful - made to last a fucking lifetime. But all Mickey did was scoff and shake his head, throwing it back down into the box and walking back inside of his room, slamming the door and leaving Ian just about completely and utterly baffled.

 

  
***

 

  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Ian cursed internally as the ball rolled away from him, one small throw away from twenty, that didn’t happen often; in the past few months he had figured out that he wasn’t all too coordinated when it came to throwing a tiny little bouncy ball against the wall over and over and over again.

 

This time he was sitting with his back against the small part of wall that was below the large window in his room, throwing the toy against the closed, damaged wooden door. The sun was still shining brightly outside, covering the area with that orange glow, but Ian didn’t like it. These days he was a lot more of a night person.

 

He threw the ball again, starting over. One. Two. Three. The expensive leather jacket sat on his own body now - there wasn’t much of a point letting it go to waste after all - and it kind of worked with his new look. If he could even call it that. Either Ian’s mind was completely filled with various ideas and plots and plans of how to somehow try to get closer to Mickey, or it was completely blank. Truthfully, he couldn’t exactly completely tell. Ian supposed he understood in a way - the guy didn’t exactly know what was going on. But he could have been a little bit nicer about the gift - flashing a smile and buying people expensive shit was what Ian had always done to win them over. And now the gift giving was the only part that he really could do. Not one single person on earth could find his face charming these days.

 

A part of Ian was realizing that he could ask someone for help - a housekeeper or a blind tutor if he would be able to find such people around the house - but he also wanted to do this himself. What did normal people do to win each other over? People without money, and people without looks? What did they do? How could they possibly get people to like them, even if they were people like themselves? Ian didn’t have much of an answer, he hadn’t grown up like that - or around people like that. And try as he might, he couldn’t come up with much.

 

Which was why he was up here, probably disturbing a lot of people throughout the house by working on beating his record, just having passed twenty eight throws. Twenty nine, Thirty, Thirty -

 

The ball bounced against the floorboard and back into Ian’s large, pale hand right as the door to the room opened, and he kept it, looking at Svetlana as she entered. The large black hoodie was sitting underneath his leather jacket, the hood pulled up over his head, covering all parts of it except for the face. The dark blue skinny jeans covered his legs, the limbs lazily laid out ahead of himself, ending in a pair of large combat boots as he continued sulking, not knowing where to go from here.

 

“It did not go good?” She asked, nodding towards the piece of clothing that was on his body, and the blueish look on his face. Ian just shook his head, sighing as he continued throwing the ball, aiming at an area a little bit away from the door this time as she was still standing there, crossing her arms. “Have you ever thought that if you want him, you might have to work for it?” Donk. Ian caught the ball, frowning as he held off on throwing it once again, just looking down at the wooden floor in front of him for a beat, then looking up. He placed his hand onto the surface, pushing himself up to stand and then he started heading over towards her, fingers still clenched around the ball, thumb nail digging into the rubber surface in thought.

 

“What do you mean?” Ian wasn’t sure why, but for some reason he was starting to feel stupid. As if whatever Svetlana was getting at was something he should have realized himself.

 

“Maybe he is not like the guys you usually go for. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be bought.” She shrugged. “Maybe he would appreciate… more of a gesture than a gift” Ian crossed his arms, looking down at the leather covering them. A gesture. Like what? He couldn’t show Mickey his face, so he couldn’t find out what he would like, because he didn’t know him all that well. “You have liked him for a while” Svetlana said, almost as if she could read Ian’s mind when he looked back up into her eyes. “You must know something about what he would like.” Ian was silent, thinking. Considering.

 

Yeah, sure he had been observing the guy for a few nights - which he was still thinking he should take to his grave, because it had been quite the creepy thing to do - but he hadn’t seen much. In fact, maybe even if he had had the opportunity to find small things out about him, odds were he would have been way too focused on Mickey’s perfect face to even pick up on it.

 

“He knows a lot about roses” Ian found himself saying randomly - that night at the club. Before everything had gone down. He had given him the rose, and Mickey had automatically known what the color meant; people without an interest in it wouldn’t know that. Right? Svetlana smiled at him, nodding her head a time or so before starting to turn back around and walk out of the room.

 

“Start there”

 

  
***

 

  
For a change, Ian was outside earlier than he was usually brave enough to - it was dark, he still didn’t like to go out during the daytime, it wasn’t a good idea. But he had wanted to have the time to do this before Mickey would go to bed tonight, so he hadn’t bad much of a choice as the clock would soon hit ten, and from the sounds he had heard throughout the house, ten - maybe eleven - was when the other guy chose to crash.

 

Ian wasn’t sure why, seeing as before he had arrived, he had been watching him up and reading way later, but maybe he was just trying to get the days to go a little bit faster so that he would be able to go back home - the thought broke Ian a little bit, but he understood it, he supposed. He did it himself sometimes.

 

The combat boot clad feet moved easily over the pavement, a small, white plastic bag hanging from Ian’s scarred fingers. His black hoodie was pulled over his body, something he would at this point probably feel somewhat naked without. Oddly enough he had been able to pay for the stuff without showing his face - he had just been looking down at the counter, making sure his features were out of view, and he hadn’t had any trouble.

 

He still didn’t know if this small, and really - as he saw it - meaningless gesture would get him anywhere with Mickey. But Svetlana hadn’t grown up rich - at least Ian supposed she hadn’t - so taking her advice might be a good idea. Worst case scenario, he would be stuck in the same place, he couldn’t imagine being thrown further back than he already was. In a way he was still jumping in square one, eager to get to square two, but he didn’t have any experience with this. Connecting with people beyond the physical, or whatever.

 

Ian curled his hand around the handle of the front door, opening it and walking inside. The night was black outside at this point, but there were quite a few lights on throughout the home - or just house, whatever. Ian still didn’t feel at home here. To him it was nothing but a bunch of old wood, making up a bad time of his life.

 

Ian wasn’t sure whether Svetlana was still awake, but he would guess that Jimmy at least was, which was why he was quiet, walking inside and closing the door behind him. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure whether this was an alright idea, or if it was strange - but the one fact he kept repeating was the one that it would be straight up impossible for him to get thrown further back. It had to be, because as of right now - Mickey didn’t seem to have any kind of idea of who he was, yet he hated his guts. At least Ian guessed he did - he could have just been annoyed when he had been dropped off and that’s what had caused his threat.

 

Either way, Mickey didn’t know that Ian was the one who he had talked to at that masquerade party that one time, and Ian wasn’t sure that if he saw him in his skinny jeans and hoodie, he would recognize him. It was possible - but Ian also didn’t know whether that would be a good thing or not. Maybe it was better for them to be able to start over completely - even if he fought a smile any time that he thought about that one, short conversation that they had shared.

 

At the bottom of the small set of stairs that led up to the room where Mickey stayed, Ian took somewhat of a deep breath, and he reached into his pocket, pushing his hood off of his head and replacing it with the thin, black cotton fabric. Then he pulled the hood up again and he held the small, white plastic bag in his hand as he started to walk up the steps, his right hand lifting and curling into a fist, knocking on the door.

 

One. Two. Three. Four. That’s how many seconds it took before the door opened, revealing a neutral looking Mickey - well, neutral for a split second before he registered the sight ahead of him.

 

“What the fuck?!” The guy cursed, stumbling backwards just one step, frowning. “What’s with the fucking robber mask, dude?!” Ian shrugged, swallowing - he should have known this was a bad idea. He was convinced that if he could just get over this small bump and become Mickey’s friend, at least to some degree, then he could work from there. But even starting a conversation was difficult - partly because of Ian’s face, but also because Ian found himself somewhat tongue-tied around him.

 

“I didn’t want to freak you out” Ian said lamely - it was the truth.

 

“Sure” Mickey breathed through a chuckle, looking up at him. “Mask didn’t freak me out more than your face ever would have or anything.” He stated, confused. Ian nodded, apologetic. But the guy wasn’t screaming at him, so he supposed that that was something.

 

“I was out, just figured I’d bring you something” He said then, handing the white plastic bag over to Mickey. It had about ten snickers bars in it - it was such a small, tiny thing to do. But after Svetlana had told Ian to look at the things he did know about Mickey, and he had realized he liked roses, he also realized that he had seen him buy one of those chocolate bars that one night, so it was better than nothing, in Ian’s opinion.

 

Yet, a part of him was still stuck in this mindset of not wanting to make it a big deal - of not wanting to make it seem weird - which, honestly might be a difficult thing to do, seeing as he was wearing a full on robber mask. He swallowed as Mickey’s brows furrowed, his hands holding the handles of the bag while he looked down at its contents.

 

“You got me like a hundred fucking snicker bars” Mickey raised his eyebrows as he looked back up, barely seeing Ian’s eyes through the small holes. “They’re my favorite, thanks” He seemed a little bit suspicious as to why Ian would do something so small - and sweet? Maybe? Was it? Ian’s judgement was kind of clouded still - which was understandable, but he didn’t seem very angry either. Ian guessed that maybe he had never been as pissed with Ian as he had been with the whole situation. That was more than understandable, as well, honestly.

 

“Welcome” Ian muttered, crossing his arms. More in nervousness than anything else. Then Mickey gave him something that didn’t quite resemble a smile - it was more of a ‘I’m not sure what to say now’ kind of tug at the edges of his lips. Then he shrugged, turning around before walking back inside of the room and closing the door in Ian’s face.

 

Ian stayed there for a second, teeth grasping his scarred bottom lip inside of the black fabric as he struggled to fight the large smile that naturally wanted to take over his face. That had been nothing - literally. He hadn’t even really gotten a genuine smile, but he felt as if he for some reason was getting somewhere. Now all he had to do was work, and figure out a way to get even closer.

 

Ian uncrossed his arms, turning around and walking back out into the kitchen where he found Svetlana, filling the water boiler up with water from the tap, absentmindedly looking away.

 

“You’re a genius, thank you!” The teenager’s words reached her ears quickly, and then he was out of the room, leaving her confused, but smiling.

 

Ian was a good guy, deep inside, she knew this. Things would work out somehow, she had to believe that.

 

  
***

 

  
On a rare occasion, Ian was down in the livingroom in the middle of the day, sitting on the couch. His legs were covered in his usual pair of black skinny jeans - the more he wore them, the more he found that he actually kind of liked them - they… made him feel somewhat more put together, hell if that was even possible.

 

Months and months of looking like this, and he still hadn’t become alright with it, but he did have some more sliver of hope now that he had someone who could possibly get him out of it. But… it was still difficult.

 

A large, grey, bleach damaged t shirt sat over his muscular body, the sleeves ending a little bit before his elbow, exposing the scarred, red and white skin. If this had all been for a movie - if it had been makeup - then maybe it would have looked kind of awesome. The skin on his body, that was - Ian’s face was just ten thousand times fucked up, that didn’t look awesome in any kind of way, under any circumstances. But as it was, this wasn’t a movie, it wasn’t a book, it wasn’t makeup, and it wasn’t fictional - this was very real, and it was ruining Ian’s entire life.

 

Ian was wearing old chucks today, black ones. He had his feet and legs tucked up into the couch as his eyes switched in between looking at his arms, and looking as the different slabs of wood and paper that were sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

 

A couple of weeks ago, when Ian had handed Mickey those chocolate bars and regained some hope about all of this, that was around the time that he got the next genius idea. Surely Mickey would like it, maybe it would earn Ian some points with him - but it was a large fucking project, and he didn’t know where to start, what to do, really. How to do it all.

 

Ian blinked heavily, gaze focused absentmindedly on his right arm. He followed the tall, white line that went from his wrist, around and almost all the way up to his elbow. He thought that on the pale skin, maybe - just maybe - he could see the slight, tiny hint of red freckles, just in this particular light. It was Ian’s body, after all - even if it wasn’t… really. Sometimes Ian went about his day, just walking around, thinking about Mickey, thinking about other normal things like what he wanted for lunch - then he would catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and it just sucked. It wasn’t as if he forgot it, really - but, looking like this, knowing that he had taken his previous unabashedly good looks for granted to the point where he earned this - it brought him down, it sucked.

 

The television was turned on, the sound traveling somewhat quietly over the livingroom, mostly because Jimmy wanted to listen to it, not because Ian wanted to watch. It was as if he had too much on his mind, too much going on in his own world to worry about fictional ones.

 

To this day, he still didn’t quite know if he would ever be able to get back to what he was - it was beyond possible that Mickey wouldn’t ever end up saying those three words that Ian needed to hear, much less in time. It was also possible that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to get his old face back, and that Mandy was just straight up messing with him - but that was a possibility that he didn’t spend too much time on. It was too frightening.

 

Ian frowned, continuing to blink down at the wooden pieces and the papers that he had drawn up, trying to figure out how exactly he should begin building.

 

Ian knew what Svetlana’s steps sounded like - he knew that Jimmy was sitting almost right next to him. So when he heard a few, half-heavy steps traveling down the hallway, his body reacted before his mind really did, and he stood up, rushing over to the curtain and closing it in front of himself, thankful that the back of Jimmy’s chair would be hiding his feet.

 

He could hear the tutor’s sound - the one between a sigh and a chuckle, but at the moment, he didn’t care much. Ian had spent the past few weeks just about avoiding Mickey completely. The next time he talked to him, he just wanted to be prepared. The last thing that he wanted to do was say something stupid or something that he hadn’t thought through, and mess everything up. He didn’t need that right now.

 

So until he was ready to talk, until he was ready to show Mickey himself - he would hide. Which was becoming more and more difficult the longer that Mickey stayed here - this wasn’t the first time Ian had been forced to run behind a curtain - because the more comfortable Mickey got, the more he started moving about the house rather than just sitting still in his room.

 

Ian closed his eyes, feeling the fabric of the thin curtain brush against his forehead, his heart banging against his ribcage.

 

  
***

 

  
Jimmy had been quite sucked into the television show for quite a long time that afternoon, but as soon as he heard the steps and Ian’s - or Crow’s, he called him both - panic, he was tugged out of it. He had to admit that it was somewhat of his guilty pleasure, watching - well, listening - to the way that the teenage boy was desperately trying to figure out a way to get to know Mickey.

 

In the tutor’s opinion, he was going about this all wrong, honestly - what was so difficult about walking up to him and starting to conversation? It had been weeks, and from what he could tell, Crow had thought about just about anything, other than that of course. His face couldn’t be that horrible that it was impossible - magic or not, Jimmy was a firm believer in the fact that most people made their insecurities a lot larger in their brain than they actually were. Maybe not larger visibly, or in scale, but made them a bigger deal.

 

“You watch TV?” Jimmy heard Mickey’s voice come from the doorway to the livingroom; he was most likely leaning against the side of it, hesitating to step inside. The older man let a small chuckle fall from his lips as he nodded, his head turned towards the other voice.

 

“I listen” Was all he stated, a smile on his lips. Then he registered the soft steps - most likely some kind of sneakers on the wooden flooring, so it didn’t make much noise, but thanks to Jimmy’s sight being out of whack, he heard. Mickey was taking a few steps into the room, walking around the couch; though his voice didn’t change height when he spoke again, so he wasn’t sitting down just yet.

 

“What is all of this?” Jimmy’s small, friendly smile was still stuck on his lips as he knew that the teenager meant the materials that were spread out over the coffee table. Whether Ian was making this whole thing more complicated than he needed to, or not - which he was - the tutor believed that his newest idea was quite sweet.

 

It was a big gesture, and technically way beyond unnecessary, but it was sweet. Besides - Jimmy was bored in this house from time to time, he couldn’t even imagine how Ian - who was used to drinking, partying and dancing every night - felt.

 

“Ia - Crow… is building a greenhouse” Jimmy stated simply, nodding once, turning his head back a little bit towards the noise of the television, pretending not to listen for whenever Mickey would answer. There weren’t a lot of things to do in this house, and following up on the whole Ian, Crow, Mickey - whatever - thing - was honestly kind of one of the few things that Jimmy found quite entertaining.

 

“A fucking greenhouse?” Mickey asked, sitting down on the couch slightly opposite of Jimmy’s soft chair now. There was a happy tone to his voice, almost as if he couldn’t believe it - it wasn’t a huge outburst of happiness whatsoever, but the guy usually spoke with a low, bored voice, so it was quite easy to tell the difference in tone. “That’s awesome, man.” Jimmy nodded, a slight smile on his face, if only for the fact that he knew that Ian was in fact right behind him, listening to every single word. Which only made it so much entertaining a couple of minutes of silence later, when Mickey once again opened his mouth and spoke. “… What’s with him anyway?”

 

A slight sound - somewhere in between a sigh and a chuckle - escaped out through Jimmy’s nose, his arm leaning on the armrest of the chair as he was quiet for a beat or two. Then he swallowed, shoulders lifting once into somewhat of a half shrug as he opened his mouth to answer.

 

“He’s a good guy” Jimmy would have liked to say more - would have liked to explain to Mickey how much - Ian - actually liked him, and how he was building this greenhouse all to get his attention. The truth was, if Ian hadn’t been listening in, odds were Jimmy would have thrown in a few hints of the sort, just to mess with their lives, or push them closer together, but as it was, he settled for those four words, hoping that Mickey would choose to believe them.

 

  
***

 

  
The wind was heavy on top of the roof as the world fell deeper and deeper into fall with every single day that passed. There were no longer any leaves on the trees, not even orange or red ones - they were all on the ground, covering the pavement, making noise as you walked through them. Winter would be coming soon.

 

Ian spent all of his time up there, from day to night, hammering and thinking and cursing - although, surprisingly, he found that the cursing part of it all became more and more rare. It was actually quite… peaceful. Being up on the roof, working and working, waiting for the day when it would finally be finished enough that he would be able to show it to Mickey - although that day was probably quite a while away. So far, he only had about half of a wall done, the windows put through. It was turning out good, though - and in a way, it all helped Ian take his mind off of the other shit going on in his life at the moment.

 

The black hoodie was as usual placed over his body, the hood folded up over his neck, hiding a lot of his face. The fabric shielded him from the wind, the chilling cold that was ever so slightly beginning to become more biting. His scarred hand held onto the long, large nail and he used his right one to hold onto the hammer, hitting it on the head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. There it was, down into the slab of wood, and he moved onto the next one. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

 

Ian took a few steps over to the hatch, the wood placed right beside it. He bent down to pick it up, but quickly let go, turning around and cursing to himself. There Mickey was, casually standing inside and looking up - he probably hadn’t been standing there more than a mere few seconds, and Ian knew that he had been quick enough to turn away that he hadn’t seen his face - yet this was a daily struggle.

 

Mickey’s bedroom was the one that you had to walk through to get to the hatch to climb up onto the roof - Ian made sure to do it when he wasn’t in there, of course - or he just walked through quickly, apologizing. It had worked out alright, but Ian could sense that with every day that passed, Mickey became more curious, wondered why the hell Ian - or Crow, as far as he knew - was the way that he was. Why he hid, why he obviously spoke to Jimmy and Svetlana, but not to him. Seeing as Mickey had now lived here for quite a long time.

 

Someday Ian would have to bare everything to Mickey, he knew this. And he was starting to become afraid that that day would have to come a lot sooner than he would like it to.

 

  
***

 

  
The darkness had since long fallen outside of the old house; the curtains weren’t drawn, but the livingroom was dark anyway - not pitch black, though. The television was on, muted, giving the room that flickering light, blending together with the slight, yellow light coming from the lamp in the corner.

 

Ian supposed that the black hoodie that was on his body had somehow become his new home at this point - he was rarely out of it. Maybe because it made it easier to keep himself hidden from Mickey, or maybe… maybe it was just something that he wore to keep himself hidden from… well, himself. To remind himself that this wasn’t who he was, not really - this closed off, this ugly, this - well, honestly? He was starting to realize now that who he had been on the inside before, had truly been as ugly as he was on the outside now. It had taken him weeks - months - but he knew that if he were ever to be lucky enough to look like that again, to be back to his normal self as far as physical appearance went - he would never be that guy again. He would no longer bully the little guy, or laugh at the chick with a few extra pounds around her stomach - Ian didn’t want to be that guy anymore. Not to that degree, not as he had been, at least.

 

Ian spent a lot of night like this - leaned back against the back of the couch, the hood of the black clothing piece folded up over his head, hiding him from everything and everyone around him. Jimmy and Svetlana were already asleep - hell, probably Mickey as well.

 

Ian was alone, with his thoughts and quiet - silent - television that he didn’t care about whatsoever. Above him, on the roof stood a half finished project - a greenhouse that he so dearly hoped he would be able to finish. Truthfully, Ian didn’t really understand Mickey’s fascination with roses - from the few, scratching conversations he had had with him, he seemed to be quite rough. The way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he walked. There was something incredibly appealing about the fact that he had a softer side to him, and he wasn’t afraid to show that fact - maybe that was one of the many reasons why Ian’s stomach did that weird thing whenever he thought about him.

 

The sleeves of the black hoodie were pushed up, the fabric ending right at Ian’s elbows. He swallowed, looking down at his left arm, clenching and unclenching his fist a couple of times, his sight focused on his forearm. Watching the way that the christmas lights just suddenly seemed to appear, lighting up the bare tree that was etched into his skin, taunting him with a star at the very top - all of it reminding him that yet another season had passed. Winter was here now.

 

“Fucking hilarious” Ian muttered.

 

“What’s hilarious?” Ian shouldn’t have been as startled by Mickey’s voice as he was - but he couldn’t help it. In fact, he had almost been one hundred percent sure that he was alone in being awake in this old house. He swallowed, dipping his head down to hide his face even more - despite the fact that Mickey’s voice had been coming from the doorway to the livingroom right behind him, so there was really no way in hell that he would be able to see more of him than the black hoodie anyway.

 

“Nothing” Ian just shook his head, lifting his head once again, coming to the realization that he was safe as he once again focused his eyes on the television screen - some kind of rerun of a boxing match. Though, of course despite the direction of his gaze - his brain wasn’t focusing on the television at all. Ian didn’t want to do this now - he didn’t want to talk to Mickey in a quiet house in the middle of the night. He still hadn’t figured out how or when he was going to gather up the strength to actually talk to him face to face - and show him what he looked like - but it wasn’t now.

 

It needed to be a more planned out moment. Ian was pushing at it and pushing at it and pushing at it - he knew this. Because by now, after all of these months, he knew that getting his old face back was only a small reason why he wanted Mickey.

 

Mickey was fucking beautiful - he seemed kind, but rough. But… soft, but interesting. Ian couldn’t quite explain it in details - not even to himself - but he had never met anybody like him before. He liked his voice, he liked the way he walked, the way he talked. Ian didn’t know shit about this guy, not technically, seeing as they had never had a bare, face to face conversation. Even on those rare couple of times that Mickey had talked to Ian - and not Crow - Ian had been hiding. He hadn't known it, but he had been hiding behind money and behind looks. Not just with Mickey, but with the world. That charming smile had never been real, or genuine, or anything of the sort.

 

Anyway - when Mickey saw Ian’s - Crow’s - face, there was a possibility that he would run away screaming. Ian didn’t want that - not in the least - which was why he needed to figure out how exactly to do it. Maybe he could soften the shock with a beautiful, new greenhouse. Maybe.

 

“You even watching that shit, or just sitting in the dark?” A couple of chuckles escaped Ian’s mouth as he continued looking at the screen, shrugging - though he doubted that it was incredibly noticeable at all. with the high back of the couch and the black sweatshirt - that was by the way, way to large for his body. Technically speaking. “If you’re not, you’re missing out, man” Ian blinked, hearing that Mickey’s voice was traveling a little bit closer to him - not too much - but surely he was taking a couple of steps further into the room. A part of Ian really fucking wanted to turn around, just to look. See him. But he couldn’t, it wasn’t the right time right now.

 

“You’re a fan of boxing?” Ian asked instead, turning his head to the side - not too much, not much at all, actually. Just a little bit. His gaze focused on the dark fabric of the couch as he waited for an answer.

 

“Die hard” Mickey confirmed, his voice not soft… but not rough either. Ian wasn’t sure how to describe the sound, technically his voice shouldn’t be anything special. He didn’t have an accent, it wasn’t very deep, or anything - it just sounded… different. And since Ian couldn’t exactly look at him a ton, he liked to listen. Something he hadn’t done a lot of before this had all gone down. “So…” Mickey spoke then, and Ian swallowed, looking back to the television screen. “I don’t know shit about you. Are we ever gonna… like actually meet?”

 

There it was. Mickey did wonder - Mickey had noticed that Ian didn’t want to meet him officially. Then again, it had been practically months since he had first moved in, so how could he not have noticed? Of course he had. But a small, wishing, naive part of Ian had hoped that he hadn’t thought much of it - that he hadn't picked up on the fact and that he had just seen it as not a big deal, a random thing. But Ian had in fact knocked on his door with a robber mask covering his face just to make sure that he wouldn’t see his features - so obviously Mickey wondered.

 

“Yes” Ian just answered, clearing his throat and looking ahead at the television screen again, his scarred, pale hands resting in his lap. It was the truth - they would meet. Someday.

 

Ian didn’t know when he would be ready, if it would be in a week or in two more months, but it would happen. He didn’t have a choice in that. If he wanted to have a chance with Mickey, if he wanted to have a chance to get his old body and face back - he needed to reveal himself. Right now he was a shadow, a tall figure in a black hoodie.

 

Nobody knew who he was, not really - not even him, himself, honestly. His brain was quite jumbled up still. Maybe he just wanted to figure out who he was himself before tired to show Mickey.

 

“Now?”

 

“No!” Ian closed his eyes - that word had slipped out of his mouth way too quickly and way too loudly. Shit. It was quiet for a beat, and then he heard a slight defeated sigh.

 

“Alright, man. Whatever” Then it was quiet once again, but Ian didn’t hear the sounds for Mickey’s steps leading him out of the livingroom, so he knew that he was still behind him, probably a few feet. Ian’s back was no longer pressed against the back of the couch, instead he was slightly leaned forwards, forearms on his knees as he studied the silent pictures on the television screen - well, almost silent - he hadn’t quite muted it all the way.

 

The black hood was pulled up so far over Ian’s face that he could see the fabric himself, and it calmed him slightly. He knew that if he couldn’t see Mickey, Mickey couldn’t see him. Fuck. If only he could be back to his old face, then he would turn around and smile - this time he would be genuine about it - and he would ask if he could take Mickey out sometime. It would be so easy. If this hadn’t happened to him - if he was what he used to be. But as it was, that wasn’t the reality that Ian currently lived in, so - he didn’t have a choice but to keep himself shielded from the rest of the world.

 

Commercial breaks came on, and Ian reached for the remote, flipping through the channels just for the hell of it - mostly to take his mind off of the other person in the room. It wasn’t an awkward silence persay - Ian just wasn’t too sure what to say. He wanted to talk, he wanted to ask, and he wanted to get to know Mickey - even if they couldn’t really speak face to face, or officially meet. Which was all on Ian. The problem was that it would be lame to mention boxing again - he couldn’t exactly say anything about roses or snickers bars - and those were the three things that Ian was sure that Mickey was into. Well, maybe there were more, but those were what came to mind right now, at least.

 

“You into Van Damme?” Finally - Mickey ended up being the one to break the silence, noticing the movie that Ian had randomly landed on as he had sorted through the channels on the television. He wasn’t all too far away from Ian anymore, in fact, he was quite sure that he was standing right behind him, maybe even sitting on the back of the couch. Since Ian wasn't willing to turn around and look, he couldn’t know exactly where he was, but he was closer - maybe even closer than they had been before and Ian hated the fact that the mere thought did something to him. He had enough to worry about right now, the last thing he needed was for his crush to pass the ‘casual’ stage, but he knew that that was a lost cause.

 

“Yeah” Ian just nodded simply once. “He’s badass. You?” It was so light that it could barely be called a conversation, yet - Ian found that it felt kind of good, just talking like this. It almost made him smile; he looked down into his lap, for a tiny moment forgetting his current life burdens.

 

“Nah” Mickey chuckled. “Seagal for the win, man. Dude could kick Van Damme’s ass” Ian just snorted, obviously disagreeing, but he didn’t say anything more.

 

Oddly enough - this was probably the most normal conversation he had had in a long time - it felt pretty fucking good. Something was happening in the pit of his stomach. Not necessarily because he was close to Mickey and butterflies were acting up, but because he knew that soon he would have to show his face. Whether that would blow their potential friendship up or not, he couldn’t possibly know, but there was a chance. And because of that, he was dreading the moment.

 

“I’m gonna crash for a bit” Mickey spoke then, and Ian nodded.

 

A weight disappeared off of the back of the couch right behind Ian, and he heard the steps of him walking out of the room.

 

Ian didn’t know why he did it. Ian didn’t know why his mouth and body moved before his brain could think through their actions. Maybe he was just eager to find out exactly what kind of person Mickey was, or maybe he was just so terrified that he suddenly wanted to get it overwith. He wasn’t sure - but either way -

 

“Wait” The old wooden floor creaked, and Ian knew that Mickey had stopped in the doorway, waiting for him to speak. Ian had his eyes clenched closed, wishing that he hadn’t done that. No. Fuck, he wasn’t ready for this. But then again, it had been six months since he had turned into this - six months, half the time - maybe pushing this wasn’t the way to go.

 

It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue - those words. ‘Never mind’. Yet, Ian somehow knew that now he had the chance - in the middle of the night, in a quiet house, he could do it now. He could just turn around and show himself - brace himself for whatever reaction he would end up getting.

 

There was no turning back anymore. So Ian took a deep breath, wiping his palms on his jeans once. Then he stood up, turning around, their eyes connecting from across the room.

 

Mickey had one of his hands placed onto the doorframe, looking. Blinking. Watching silently. Ian knew that now, this was it. His face was already exposed, but he slowly brought his hands up to his head anyway, pushing the hood completely off, his bald, scarred head showing as well. Mickey could see everything now. Every bump, every dip, every scar, every ugly tattoo - everything.

 

That slit in his head that looked healed, but it was deep, red. Ian hated himself - hated the way that he looked. His stomach sank every single time that he walked past a mirror - which he tended to avoid doing a lot of the time. He just hated it. Simple as that, he supposed. It sucked - it all did.

 

And now, if Mickey reacted the wrong way. If he screamed, if he got scared, if he was disgusted - it would all be completely understandable - but if so, then Ian would be back to square one. Not only would he not have somebody that could possibly at some point - against all odds - fall in love with him and turn him back. But… that would also mean that Ian would lose the guy that he was really, really into. That would sting, too.

 

“Um… pretty gruesome, huh?” Was all Ian could really think to say, when even twenty seconds or so later, Mickey was still silent, staring. Looking.

 

The livingroom was dark, only the flickering light of the television and the old lamp giving it any kind of light. That meant that Ian couldn’t quite see Mickey perfectly, as he was across the room, he couldn’t read his eyes to a T. But there was something in them - something kind of soft. Mostly his face was completely neutral. He wasn’t smiling, or frowning. The thick lips were just slightly parted in surprise, his eyebrows maybe a tiny bit raised.

 

Ian swallowed in nervousness, beginning to become scared that Mickey wouldn’t say anything at all. Then, however -

 

“I’ve seen worse”

 

  
***

 

  
Ten minutes or so later, Ian entered his room, struggling to keep his grin under control. That had really happened. He had really done that. He had shown his face to Mickey, and Mickey hadn’t freaked out - he had even told him that he had seen worse - which was quite obviously a lie in Ian’s ears, but even that couldn’t bring him down from whatever high he was currently riding.

 

There was no doubt that Ian still had a long way to go before he could consider Mickey a boyfriend or anything of the sort - even a friend, really. But that was what Ian wanted, and for once, he felt somewhat cautiously optimistic. He didn’t have much of a clue as to why Mickey had reacted as calmly as he did - a face like Ian’s wasn’t something normal, it wasn’t something worth shrugging off to a lot of people. But Mickey hadn’t cared, and if Ian hadn’t already been sure that he was somewhat crazy about this guy, he was now.

 

At least as crazy as one could be about someone that they didn’t know a whole of a lot about, that was. They still had a long way to go, but Ian felt as if they were at least moving forwards a little bit.

 

The sun was starting to rise now - even if it was just a little bit. Whether it was too early or too late for Ian to be awake was a dilemma that would most likely never quite be solved, but he knew that even if he were to lay down now, sleep wouldn’t come to him. His brain was too busy, thinking about Mickey and thinking about his eyes. Thinking about how maybe, in some sort of twisted and absolutely fucked up way, living a life with this face for the next however many months, might now not be quite as miserable as the previous ones had been.

 

The large window was uncovered as always, filling the large, old room up with some slight, somewhat grey morning sun. Ian closed the door behind himself for a second, crossing his arms as he just stood there. What now?

 

He did have an idea, actually. An idea of something that he could do that might be… romantic? Poetic? He wasn’t sure what the right word would be, but a few weeks ago - on one of the many occasions that he had his behind the curtain when Mickey had been speaking to Svetlana, she had for some reason mentioned love letters. And how sad it was that in this day and age, people no longer wrote them.

 

Ian wasn’t sure how it had come up, exactly - he couldn’t remember, maybe there had been something about it on the television. Though Mickey wasn’t the one who had said those words, what Ian did remember, was how he had agreed. How through the thin fabric of the curtain - when Ian really tried - he had seen the slight movement of his head moving up and down.

 

Ian wouldn’t want to write him a long letter and give it to him tomorrow or something along those lines - that would be creepy as they didn’t know each other very well yet. Ian only knew that he felt drawn to him, that he liked him and that he wanted to know more. That was a far cry from worthy of a long love letter.

 

However - he thought as he started to walk over to the small, old desk that was standing in front of the window now - it had been something his father had had delivered so that Ian would study. Little did he know, he and Jimmy just kind of hung out, they hadn’t had one single tutoring session - not that Ian would ever really agree to that anyway.

 

Maybe he could start now, and write a little bit every single day. Ian had noticed that despite Mickey’s hard surface - the way he smoked, the way he talked, the way he walked - he liked somewhat softer things. He liked roses, the liked romance, even if he didn’t look like it. If Ian at some point in the future handed over a letter that he had been writing for several months - how romantic would that be? Ian kind of liked the idea, if he was being honest.

 

So he took a deep breath - maybe because he was nervous, he wasn’t sure. And he sat down, getting out a sheet of paper and a pen, looking out over the city skyline for a minute, and then he looked down at the blank paper; the sheet that would soon he littered with letters.

 

  
_Mickey,_

_lately I have been thinking about letters. Long, hand-written, real letters. And how sad it is that no one writes them anymore. That’s why I have decided to start one. For you. Today._

 

  
***

 

  
A few days had passed since Ian had finally gathered up enough courage to show Mickey his face - maybe it had been an entire week, even. He wasn’t all too sure. They hadn’t talked a whole of a lot since - if Ian was being honest, he still didn’t want to rush this.

 

The cement of the rooftop was cool against his thinly clothed back as he laid there, looking up at the stars - for once the city was quite dark, so he could actually see them. Count them. It brought him some kind of peace, to just be here. With the silence and the slight chill. His finger tips rested on top of his stomach, against the black fabric covering his torso, his legs slightly bent, feet planted onto the flat surface of the roof.

 

A few feet away from him stood a greenhouse. A finished greenhouse; almost ready to be shown to Mickey.

 

  
***

 

  
Two more days passed before Ian was standing in front of the closed bedroom door that led to Mickey’s room - and to the roof. If Ian was being honest - he wasn’t all too sure if he felt ready to show the greenhouse to Mickey tonight. He wanted to do it late, so that Jimmy and Svetlana wouldn’t walk in and want to see it, which was pretty much a guarantee if he were to reveal that it was finished during the day.

 

Svetlana asked about it quite a bit - Ian had figured out that she liked roses as well, and someday he would show his “parents”. But the reason that he had started to build it in the first place was for Mickey - and to kill time while he was stuck in a body like this one - but mostly for Mickey. To do something sweet, maybe even something romantic. So he wanted to show it to him alone first.

 

Ian swallowed, lifting his large, scarred and pale hand up to the flat surface of the door, letting it hit two or three times before he wrapped it around the door handle, walking inside.

 

There were a small staircase - or really just a few steps, it could barely be called a staircase - right inside, a thin railing on both sides. Ian walked up, the creaking noise registering with him as usual.

 

“Hey, man” Mickey greeted him where he stood, right by the desk where Ian saw him sitting a lot of the time - writing, or doing just about whatever. Ian wasn’t sure, because he had never asked, it just seemed like an invasion of privacy, they didn’t know each other super well yet.

 

The shorter man crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden surface as Ian said hello back, taking the last step up onto the raised floor, his lips fixed into a small - casual, which was something he wasn’t perfectly used to yet - smile.

 

“Did I come at a bad time?” Ian found himself asking - it was something he had become incredibly phobic off - making small mistakes that would make Mickey become annoyed with him. Probably because the last thing he wanted was for this whole thing to blow up in his face. Mickey just shook his head, though, a smile on his lips as well.

 

“Nah, nah. It’s fine” The brunet assured Ian, who - for only a few seconds - let his eyes travel over his body. That one plain, black muscle tee that someone always seemed to be on Mickey was there now as well - or maybe he had several, that was probably a good guess because Ian couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him dressed in anything else, but then again - he wasn’t exactly one to variate his wardrobe anymore either. He had a lot more important things to worry about.

 

The dark blue skinny jeans hugged Mickey’s legs in a way that always seemed to make Ian extremely thankful that he, himself, had graduated to wearing large rocker tees that covered his crotch, because more often times than not, it was difficult not to stare for too long. It was as if with every single time that he saw this guy, he became hotter - and thereby, Ian’s crush got even worse, even bigger. And talking to him became even more of a difficult task; though of course it was somewhat easier now that he was aware of the fact that he didn’t hold his hideous appearance against him.

 

After a few seconds, Ian caught sight of something behind Mickey, just slightly partially hidden behind his back - not consciously, probably. The large screen of the computer was covered in a picture that he had pulled up, as if he had been looking at it before Ian had decided to enter - Crow. He was suddenly reminded. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t what he used to be, that he wasn’t Ian anymore, he was crow. That’s what Mickey knew him as - and now it completely slapped him right across the face.

 

Because right there, in perfect quality on the screen, there he was. Ian. Standing close to Mickey at the celebration that seemed oh so long ago - before he had had anything to worry about. Back when he had been at his best, at the top. Physically and reputation wise. He had almost forgotten all about that, with everything else going on at the moment, but now he remembered.

 

The way that Mickey’s eyes had somehow been full of curiosity, how they had talked to each other - even if it had been just a few moments - Ian had liked that. Liked the way he had looked, the way he had spoken.

 

Ian - the one in the picture - he wasn’t looking at the camera, though. He didn’t look cocky, or way too sure of himself - the way that he knew he always used to. In fact, he looked… smitten. As much as he fucking hated that word, and as much as he would never use it out loud, that’s how he looked. He had his head tilted a little bit, turned to the side, looking down at Mickey. Taking him in, a small smile spread over his flawless lips. The lips that were now covered in horrible scars and redness; the lips that were dry and the lips that hadn’t uttered a confident word in months. Ian’s hair was there, too - the red strands that he had once taken so much pride in.

 

Now they were replaced by scars, tattoos, pieces of metals and a lot of other ugly things that he didn’t want to look nor think about. But mostly - there he was. Mickey. Right next to him, even closer than he was now, at this moment.

 

Ian may be incredibly far from getting Mickey to have feelings for him - or even trust him, really, he supposed. But they had come so far from that night. And Mickey had no idea.

 

“Sorry, it’s just this…” Mickey turned around slightly, placing his hand onto the top of the large laptop, folding it down and getting the photo out of Ian’s sight. “Random guy at my old school” He shrugged, crossing his arms once again, leaning back against the desk and looking at Ian, who wasn’t sure what to say. What could he say?

 

“You look close” Fuck. He sounded like a jealous jackass - which wouldn’t have been very cool, even if he and Mickey had been close whatsoever. Which they weren’t. Damn.

 

“Nah, you know…” Mickey begun, sounding somewhat unsure of himself - not because of Crow, but as if he didn’t know the facts himself of what exactly had gone down in between him and Ian. Which was understandable, in a way, the taller man supposed.

 

They hadn’t talked more than two times, but he had always felt something for Mickey, something ineffable. He supposed it was possible that he hadn’t been one hundred percent alone in that. But that didn’t matter now, because Ian was Crow, but Crow wasn’t Ian.

 

He crossed his scarred and tattooed arms somewhat casually, walking further inside of the room, leaning against the large latter that lead up to the rooftop, looking at Mickey, Mickey turning with him, leaning his hip against the desk instead of his back.

 

“Just one of those guys who thought he was gods gift, I guess. Popular, rich. Obnoxious as fuck” Mickey spoke the last few words with a somewhat bitter, but amused chuckle to his voice, and Ian felt forced to join in, the edges of his mouth pulling upwards.

 

Popular, rich and obnoxious as fuck was only scraping the surface of the bad things that used to make up Ian’s very being, and for that, he would probably always be regretful. When - if - he got that face back, maybe he wouldn’t be as closed off as he was now, but he knew that he would never want to go back to being that guy. Not completely. It wasn’t worth hurting people.

 

“Only talked a couple times” Mickey added them, arms crossed as he shrugged his shoulder, looking across the room, blue eyes connecting with green.

 

The door to the small balcony behind Ian’s back was open, and it let in a small breeze of air as they were both silent for a moment. One or two lamps were turned on, so despite the darkness that had since long fallen outside of the windows, Mickey’s bedroom was covered in somewhat of a soft yellow light.

 

“Really? It looked like he likes you” Ian wasn’t sure why the comment came out of his mouth - but it was obvious. No human being on earth could look at that picture and say that he hadn’t looked as if he was appreciating every single small, tiny detail of Mickey’s face.

 

And honestly - that’s exactly what he had been doing the second that flash had gone off. Realized what a beautiful human being he was. Damn it. If he could just go back to looking like that, then he would ask Mickey out and say whatever he wanted, whatever he meant - but that wasn’t the reality he was in at the moment.

 

Mickey shrugged again, lips parting for a second as he looked towards the now closed laptop, sighing - barely audibly, but it was there.

 

“Yeah, I kind of… maybe at some point, I was fucked up enough to think that he did, but…” Mickey trailed off and didn’t say anything more after that. The truth was that it make Ian somewhat sad in a way - that Mickey thought he was fucked up for believing that he liked him. He had. He did. Maybe he would for a long time, hell if he knew.

 

“Bet he does” Ian didn’t really care if it was a strange thing to say - he felt like saying it. “It’s kind of easy to, you know?” The last few words were out of his mouth before they even went through his brain, and he immediately cleared his throat, gaze dropping down to the old, creaking wooden floor for a second. For once he was thankful that his skin was so pale, thick and scarred that a blush would never be visible.

 

When he looked up again, Mickey was looking at him from across the room, lips slightly parted. Surprised - most likely - which was probably understandable. Then a small smile took over his mouth, and he cleared his throat as well, fingertips digging into his pale, bare arms.

 

“Anyway” He spoke through a small chuckle, their eyes connecting again - not much tension lingering from Ian’s surprising half-confession - oddly enough. “He’s gone now, no one’s seen him for months” Mickey explained. “Rehab” He stated, and Ian nodded once, or twice - so that was what people still were thinking. It was as good as anything, he supposed. Maybe his father had even helped spread that rumor a little bit, at least it would keep people from calling and asking. “Go figure, right?” Mickey spoke then, voice somewhat bored as he turned to look at the computer despite the fact that it was closed. “I don’t know, just something about him. Fucking typical of me to fall for someone I can’t have”

 

“You fell for him?” Ian’s surprised words were so sudden that it almost made Mickey jump - and Ian probably should have been embarrassed. In his ears, he didn’t sound jealous - just excited, shocked, he couldn’t help it. Though of course since Mickey had no fucking idea that he was talking about Ian - to Ian - there was no other way for him to interpret it, other than jealousy.

 

“No” He shook his head, dark and thick eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a small, somewhat sad chuckle. “Whatever” It wasn’t an annoyed ‘whatever’. It was just one that signified that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and honestly, Ian was kind of finished with the subject as well. It was only a matter of time before he would spoil it otherwise, and Mickey would think he was crazy as fuck.

 

A few moments later, their eyes connected again, through the dimly lit room, and Ian swallowed.

 

“Let me show you something”

 

  
***

 

Ian’s throat was somewhat thick as he climbed the old, creaking latter, taking two steps at a time. His scarred, pale hands clutched the sides of it, and he hated how nervous he was - a part of him thought that he should wait after all. Show Mickey the greenhouse in the morning, when it was bright outside and he would be able to see all of the details. But the city-lights actually fell somewhat over the roof with all of the tall buildings around, so it didn’t look too bad at night either - besides, the sun would be coming up soon anyway.

 

And in a way - this was like showing Mickey his face - it was something he wanted to do, something he wanted to get over with. Maybe so that they could become a little bit closer; have something in common. Before Ian had started building this thing, he hadn’t been very into roses. Or plants, or greenhouses. Or building stuff, for that matter, really - but now he had spent hours upon hours on it, every single day, and he had started to appreciate it. He had started to realize why Mickey liked it so much - it was pretty - calming, somehow, he supposed.

 

“What the fuck?” Mickey’s voice came from behind Ian as Ian put a combat-boot clad foot onto the flat roof-top, taking a few steps away from the hatch to give him some space to do the same. Ian was turned away from Mickey, teeth gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip in excitement, because those three words had been filled with… wonder? Amazement? Ian wasn’t sure what the right term would be, he wasn’t a writer or anything - though he was still trying to get that letter right.

 

“I finished it a couple of days ago” Ian admitted, taking a few more steps and turning around, watching Mickey where he stood, just having stepped onto the roof, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked. “Figured you’d like to see it first” The greenhouse looked good, even in the dark night, Ian had to admit that he had done a hell of a good job - especially since this had been his very first time building anything large like this - or even building anything at all, really.

 

He had even filled it with roses and a few other plants now, because he wanted the full effect. It wasn’t made completely out of glass, like most of the greenhouses Ian had seen before - instead the bottom and the main parts of it was wood, painted a pale green color; and then there were large windows, of course, the edges of it completely open so that you could walk through without having to open a door or anything. Two wooden chairs stood inside of it, among the roses, and the flowers and the aloe plants.

 

Ian had never believed that he would be able to pull this off, especially not to the point where even he would like to spend a lot of his time out here, but with time and effort - and boredom - he had done it. And it fucking looked great.

 

“This is fucking amazing, man” Mickey grinned, words slightly breathless as he walked forwards, inside. Ian breathed out, for some reason relaxing at the words. He liked it - and by the amazed look on his face - well, as amazed as Mickey ever let himself appear, he really fucking liked it. Ian did, too; he realized as he looked at Mickey, taking in the greenhouse.

 

The view was beautiful.

 

  
***

 

  
The greenhouse became their spot as they grew closer with each day after that. Ian wasn’t as scared anymore; scared of Mickey not liking him, or scared of Mickey not accepting him. In fact - in the weeks after that, maybe Ian even… kind of forgot. Forgot about why he had originally decided that he wanted to get to know this guy, forgot how terrible and gruesome he looked; forgot all about why he had built this greenhouse.

 

Ian, he just… kind of forgot about his troubles as time moved on, slowly. Not completely forgot of course, but enough. Because his life wasn’t ugly anymore, his life wasn’t boring and he wasn’t as alone as he had been previously. Instead his days were filled with plants, roses; the cold breeze of the chilling air up on the roof, goosebumps appearing on his pale, scarred skin, just as it did on Mickey’s smooth.

 

They didn’t do much - they didn’t touch, they didn’t share all that much about each other’s past. Mickey didn’t ask why Ian looked the way that he did; they just sat up there. Sometimes they read - since Ian had now vowed to himself to stay away from the internet for the foreseeable future, it only got him down, and he found that he didn’t miss all of the fake gossip, or bragging statuses - how could he when he could be up here, with the guy that he was quite sure that he might even completely be falling in love with?

 

Sometimes they would sit on chairs inside of the greenhouse and read out loud to each other to pass some of the time; sometimes they would read quietly. Sometimes they would sit on the flat roof outside of the greenhouse, sometimes they would lay down and look up.

 

Sometimes into clouds, sometimes at stars. Sometimes they would stay there for so long that it ended up being both. Sometimes they would sit at the edge of the roof, legs hanging off of the building, feeling more free than either of them had really felt before. They would watch the city lights turn on, and then go back out, realizing that they had stayed there quietly, shoulder to shoulder, for a little bit longer than they technically probably should have.

 

Ian’s life changed - a lot. For the better.

 

For the most part, they didn’t speak much at all - with their own words, that was, of course. Reading out loud to each other from old, classic novels somehow became a thing, and Ian found himself liking that fact. Despite the fact that books, reading - none of it had ever interested him. Maybe he liked it now because Mickey did, because it gave him some kind of insight into who Mickey really was. Or maybe he just liked hearing Mickey’s voice for minutes and minutes, sometimes adding up to hours.

 

In a way - Ian supposed that they didn’t really get to know each other. A month from when he had first showed Mickey the finished project that was the greenhouse, he still didn’t know much about his past - or vice versa. But maybe knowing someone wasn’t the exact same thing as being close to them. They were close - they were growing closer, and Ian wasn’t even trying that hard. As they spent more and more time together, it just came naturally.

 

  
***

 

  
One night, they were both sitting at the edge of the roof, the darkness all too close to falling over the city as they leaned back against the raised designs, their clothed feet slipped in between each other’s. Ian wasn’t looking at Mickey currently, his eyes were on his own knees; but he was listening. Listening to Mickey as he read a small part out of Wuthering Heights. The words fell from his lips surprisingly smoothly; so smoothly that Ian wasn’t half as focused on the words and how it made up a classic story - as he was focused on the mere sound of his voice.

 

With every single day, Ian thought that maybe he was becoming a little bit more lost in Mickey; and they weren't even anywhere close to more than friends. Yet somehow; Ian was alright with that. For now, this felt really good. Lately… it was almost as if time had stopped.

 

Ian lifted his gaze from his own legs, turning his head a little bit as Mickey continued to speak; as he continued to tell the tale. The streetlights were on all over the city, lighting it up; more so in the middle than the very edge of town where Ian and Mickey were currently located. Far down, Ian could see the streets. The people running like little ants, trapped in their own lives - trapped like he used to be. In money and in looks and popularity.

 

Ian hoped that he one day would be able to return to his old body, but he would never want to return to that life. Lately, he had started to appreciate smaller things - or maybe bigger things. Classic novels, roses, the way that Mickey’s blue eyes would sometimes light up at something small that he said. Fuck - he had even started to find the creaking in the staircase somewhat… calming.

 

Small, tiny, white particles started to fall from the jet-black sky, right then and there; and Ian swallowed, continuing to listen to Mickey’s voice as he looked up, soon feeling the cold effect of the snow flakes hitting his forehead; then his nose and his cheek. His scarred lips. The snow had taken its time this year; it was well into January at this point, but here it was - winter.

 

Yet another reminder that time hadn’t - in fact - stopped.

 

  
***

 

  
It was maybe a day or so later - a late night - that Ian was sitting bent over his old, creaking desk, his pen scribbling down word after word onto the paper that he hoped that he would some day find the courage to hand over to Mickey. It was dark outside yet again, the snow was still falling, coming down strongly. It was hitting the large window in front of his face; he realized as he took a small break, lifting his head to look.

 

Ian couldn’t see that much outside, there weren’t any streetlights right outside of his window, instead there was a body of water, and on the other side of that, laid the city. Although, he could see the hint of the flakes; where they fell, falling down into the water that hadn’t quite yet frozen over completely. Falling onto the streets of the city. Falling onto his window, melting. Creating small stripes of water, rolling down the glass.

 

Ian’s chest rose, and then fell. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie anymore - he didn’t have a reason to. Instead he was dressed in a thin, grey henley, the buttons open - exposing quite a bit of his scarred, terrible chest, because… he didn’t care. Svetlana didn’t care, Jimmy couldn’t see - and even if he could, he was a good guy, and he wouldn’t care. Somewhere among that acceptance, Ian had… stopped caring as well. At least to the degree that he had previously.

 

And Mickey… well, Mickey didn’t care either. Mickey was kind to Ian, he was sweet - a lot of the time with a good amount of curse words thrown into his sentences, but he was sweet. And he smiled. Ian had this theory, that… maybe he wasn’t alone. Alone in feeling this way, alone in feeling this kind of tug towards Mickey, this tug in between them.

 

January. And they weren’t even together. Had it been up to Ian, he probably would have been alright with living like this for another few months, taking it slow - it was… different these days. Not a lot of people did that. Though as it was - with every single snow flake, and every single sunrise and every single sunset - Ian was reminded that time was constantly happening. With every second of every day, he got closer to staying this way for the rest of his life; he didn’t want that.

 

Ian swallowed, his chest rising, then falling. As he looked himself in the eye through the black window. Saw the scar in his forehead, saw his hooded eyes and his scarred, parted lips. Mickey didn’t care; Mickey liked him anyway. And Ian… Ian loved Mickey. So what the hell were they waiting for?

 

Before Ian changed his mind, he took one big, deep breath and he stood up, folding the long pages together and putting them away. He then turned around, walking out of his room; taking the steps two by two, the creaking filling his ears as he walked through the pitch black house in the middle of the night. Through the livingroom and through the kitchen.

 

Until he reached Mickey’s door, where he lifted his fist up to the wood, carefully letting his knuckles hit it once. And then twice; holding his breath as he let his arm drop, waiting. It took a second or so, and then the door opened, revealing Mickey at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Ian with his eyebrows raised, a casual expression on his face, lips slightly parted.

 

Before Ian had the seconds he would need to change his mind, he just went for it; his pale, scar covered hands were placed on the back of Mickey’s neck, and he dipped his head down a little bit, capturing his lips in a surprisingly soft kiss.

 

The warmth that surged throughout Ian’s body with the touch was mindblowing, though pretty soon he became aware of the fact that Mickey wasn’t responding. He was just still, frozen under Ian’s touch; maybe surprised, or maybe he didn’t want this.

 

Ian’s eyes were closed, lips still on Mickey’s, but he was starting to change his mind now, realize that he shouldn’t have done this. He should have waited, fuck -

 

Right as Ian was about to let go, pull away and apologize until he didn’t have any words left - that’s when he felt Mickey’s arm. Lift up and curl around his neck to pull him down, pull him closer; his lips parting, responding finally. The edges of Ian’s mouth twitched upwards; he wanted this. There was not once single ounce of doubt left - Mickey wanted him right back.

 

They separated for a second, both pairs of lips parted, foreheads still resting together, hands on each other as they breathed, the warm air fanning each other.

 

Neither of them said anything at all, they just stayed like that for another few beats. Processing. The hot feeling in their stomachs, and the way that something just seemed to fall into place. Almost… almost like the magic that had turned Ian into what he was.

 

Their eyes opened for a short second, connecting with each other’s. A small, almost silent sound somewhere in between a sigh and a chuckle escaped Mickey’s mouth, and then he went back in, pressing his lips back against Ian’s scarred ones.

 

As Ian responded, it was less hesitant than the first time; his right hand stayed on the back of Mickey’s neck, but he placed his left arm around his waist, wanting him even a little bit closer, the kiss deepening just slightly; still not quite wet and desperate or anything. It was as if they were just enjoying the moment, enjoying the fact that they were finally able to do this.

 

Ian’s eyes were closed, fingers clutching at the black fabric of the back of his muscle tee. His thumb rested against his cheek, nose pressed into his pale, soft cheek as his lips nipped at Mickey’s thick, pink ones. They felt just as perfect as he had always imagined - all of him did. The warmth of his body pressed to his own, his hands, his lips - everything.

 

They never let go of each other as they slowly started moving away from the door, stumbling towards Mickey’s bed in the middle of the dimly lit room. Ian moved his arm away from Mickey’s waist, placing it against his cheek, so that he was holding his face on both sides, managing to deepen the kiss a little bit more, his tongue gently sliding over Mickey’s, the warmth making the creatures in the pit of his stomach flutter even harder. This was it, he knew that it was.

 

In a way, it was as if Ian could appreciate everything. Every single detail, every hundredth of the second, every slight touch, and every single time they would pull apart and go in for more; like he could sense every single hair on Mickey’s body, every small birthmark, every quiet breath from his lips, every step they took together to get closer to the bed.

 

Every single time his fingers would brush over Ian’s skin, every time he would stretch his neck to deepen a little bit upwards to deepen the kiss even more.

 

Though, in a way, Ian felt the opposite as well. All at the same time. It was also as if he was stuck in a haze, a blur of what was happening. Mickey’s lips, Mickey’s touch, clothes being shed around the room as they gave into each other, the kisses slowly growing somewhat more deep, better.

 

For the life of him, Ian would probably never be able to quite describe the feeling of this night. And maybe he didn’t need to; maybe he just needed to - for once - stop thinking. And just do.

 

Mickey’s bare back landed onto the cool sheets of his bed, and Ian climbed on top of him, dipping his head down to capture the other man’s lips in between his own once again, tongues sliding together perfectly, in a way that neither of them had ever once felt before. Almost as if it was meant to be.

 

Save for their boxers, all of their clothes as been shed by now, spread out all over the room, allowing their warm skin to be pressed together; Ian didn’t care about his looks in this moment. With Mickey, somehow he didn’t see much of a reason to. Because he knew that he didn’t care. Ian’s chest, Ian’s legs - none of if looked any better than his face, but it was alright. He felt alright. Mickey made him feel alright.

 

Mickey laid completely relaxed against the sheets, his tongue exploring Ian’s mouth as Ian continued to straddle his body, hands resting on his neck for a moment before he slowly started to slide them downwards, feeling the soft, perfect skin against his palms. He moved his hands just about as slowly as he possibly could, down his chest, to his waist, holding it for a moment, the makeout session continuing. A slight moan sounded in the base of Mickey’s throat, and Ian swallowed the sound, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down and getting rid of them, leaving Mickey completely bare.

 

Ian continued kissing him, feeling him trace his fingers over his back; over the dried up and healed slashes, the other scars; the dips and the tattoos. He touched him softly, slowly, no matter how desperate their kissing had become at this point. Ian’s hands rested on Mickey’s torso as he pulled away, frowning while opening his eyes, meeting striking blue ones, staring up at him through the dimly lit bedroom.

 

They didn’t say anything - it was as if they didn’t need to. Mickey brought his right hand up to Ian’s cheek, holding his face softly; his thumb resting at the slight cleft in his chin, surely feeling the scars under his touch, the different shapes and the dips that weren’t normal. Though, Ian didn’t get the feeling that Mickey thought he was as hideous as he actually was. In fact… the way Mickey was looking at him, it was almost as if… as if he was appreciating him. Like he thought he was beautiful.

 

They looked into each other’s eyes for another beat, and then Ian went back in, softly capturing Mickey’s lips in between his own again, feeling his heart begin to beat even faster as they continued getting lost in each other, hands on each other’s bodies, lips nipping at lips and nibbling on necks.

 

Not very many minutes had to pass before they were both completely naked, arms laced around each other, Ian’s hips placed in between Mickey’s, the shorter man’s legs wrapped around Ian’s body. Their lips continued eating at each other’s a little bit, it was as if they couldn’t quite get enough. Ian didn’t know how long Mickey had had feelings for him, but he did know that this was a long time coming for him - having Mickey like this. Not even just having him physically close, but close in another way. It was all he had wanted for the longest time, and now, here they were.

 

It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue to ask if this was alright, if he was ready. But then Mickey deepened the kiss, and hooked his ankles, urging him closer, his nose pressed tightly into Ian’s cheek, his hands on his lower back - and Ian lost all track of thought, just giving into him.

 

It was a haze - this entire experience was. The way that Mickey’s body just accepted Ian’s cock as he pressed inside of him, the way that his breath seemed to hitch with every single one of Ian’s touches to his body. The small moans in the base of his throat, and the way he dug his fingertips deep into his pale, damaged flesh.

 

It was a complete haze, and once again Ian found that feeling of acknowledging every single detail, but not being able to pay attention to any one thing what so ever. It all blended together into one thing; magic.

 

When Ian bottomed out, he broke the kiss for a moment, moving his face to the crook of Mickey’s neck instead, nibbling the skin, kissing it. His arms locked around his waist as he pulled out and entered him once again, building up a perfect pace, his tongue dancing over Mickey’s collarbone. Mickey’s arms closed around his upper body, holding him close, the sounds of pleasure often traveling from his lips to Ian’s ears.

 

It was hard for Ian to imagine a night more perfect than this one. Mickey moving with him, holding him. Kissing him. It was all he wanted, he realized now. Fuck, he was in love with this man. He continued fucking him, moving in and out of his body, almost like a dance; one only they knew. Maybe one they would always know.

 

Ian lifted his head, re-connecting their lips again after leaving a small, purple mark right above Mickey’s collarbone. He immediately felt him respond, his tongue slipping into his mouth, their mouths fitting together like it had always been meant to be. Mickey’s hand rested on the back of Ian’s neck, holding him close; fingertips tracing over the scars, the texture, the tattoos. The things Ian despised. The things Mickey might even find kind of… beautiful.

 

Mickey’s cock was trapped in between their chests as Ian continued moving, both pairs of eyes closed while they continued getting lost in each other. A small groan sounded in the base of Ian’s throat as he felt a small drop of precome on his stomach, and he reached in between them both, wrapping his large hand around Mickey’s cock, jerking him off slowly, in time to his own movement, helping him get there.

 

Ian swallowed Mickey’s moans as they continued kissing, hands all over each other’s bodies, noses pressed into each other’s cheeks, completely tumbling through that haze of early love, and excitement, and… affection. As much as Ian wanted to tear Mickey’s clothes off and make him beg at some point - tonight wasn’t that night. All he wanted to do was make sure that Mickey knew. Knew how much he cared, how long he had waited for him. How much he loved him.

 

Once they had both shaken through their highs, they laid side by side in Mickey’s bed, arms laced around each other, warmth spread all throughout their bodies. Maybe even happiness. If that was a thing. Ian had his cheek leaned against the black hair, his lips slightly parted while he felt it.

 

Mickey’s heartbeat. One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven, eight.

 

Mickey lifted his head, and Ian moved his to let him. The pale, smooth hand rested on top of the scarred, tattoo covered chest as their eyes connected. Ian swallowed, trying to figure out what exactly he saw in the blue color; he couldn’t figure it out. That was, of course, until Mickey swallowed nervously, and spoke -

 

“Crow, you’re the most beautiful man I have ever met in my entire fucking life” If Ian had been obviously confident about his looks - in other words, if Mickey had been with Ian, and not Crow - then maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to say it. Though, that didn’t mean that Ian didn’t believe that he believed he was telling the truth. And it only made Ian’s heart throb even harder for him right before he pressed one more deep, amazing kiss to those lips.

 

Ian didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. After that, Mickey laid back down, clinging onto Ian and falling asleep. They both did. But it was a somewhat quiet ‘ping’ that woke Ian up all of five minutes later or something, and he frowned, looking towards Mickey’s computer where he saw the message. It was from a friend of his, Ian assumed.

  
_‘Mick, you still want to run away, or what? Got everything ready now to get you out of that house’_

 

Ian swallowed thickly, staring at the words for a little bit longer than he should have. His heart speeding up - this time for all of the very wrong reasons. He turned his head back, leaning his cheek against the soft, black hair, drinking in the feeling of holding Mickey while he still was able to.

 

One, two. Three, four. Five, six…

 

  
***

 

  
The few inches of snow that covered the ground well into January crunched underneath Ian’s heavy combat boots as he walked, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his black hoodie, his face hidden away from view as always when he was outside. For a change - it was actually the morning now, as he was out in public. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been brave enough; but it was incredibly early. Maybe five or six am, so the chance of him running into some random people wasn’t all that large.

 

The tall buildings that made up the city were collected all around Ian as he walked, but he wasn’t looking up; or down. He was looking ahead, the smoke visible from his breathing blending together with the freezing air. A part of him felt quite terrible after the way he had just left Mickey in his bed this morning, sleeping. After the amazing night they had had, but as much as Ian would like to relive every touch and every kiss - he could do that later. It was almost February now. Maybe he was getting somewhere with Mickey - he was surely getting somewhere, actually - but there was no way he would be able to hear those three words come out of his mouth within just a few months. If Ian wanted to turn back into what he was - he needed more time.

 

Ian had seen her just a few minutes ago, but now she was out of sight again. Fucking gothic ass witch, where the hell was she? He continued walking; over the sidewalks and through the streets, occasionally looking into an alleyway or two - until he finally saw her in one.

 

He turned immediately, chasing after her until he got a hold of Mandy’s arm, spinning her around.

 

“I need more time!” Ian said, sounding a little bit more desperate than he would like to - but fuck, he was desperate. He could do this; he could make Mickey fall in love with him right back, and they could have a good relationship, and Ian could be happy with his looks - but not without more time granted to him. “Please, I might have a shot if I have more time!”

 

“Can’t” Mandy pulled her arm back, tilting her head with a malicious look on her features. “Sorry”

 

  
***

 

  
Ian swallowed, looking out over the black sky, the way that the city lights and the lamps in the livingroom windows lit it up while he was still on the edge of town, up on the roof. Right on the edge, in fact; his legs hanging over the side of the building, and if someone gave him a push, there was no way in hell he would survive. He kind of liked it, though - just sitting here. Calmly. Nowhere to go at the moment, nothing to do. Nothing to read because of the lack of light around. It felt good; when this had all started, he had hated being alone. Hated not having parties every single night, or random guys throwing themselves at him - he liked it now.

 

Though, to be fair, he wasn’t alone. And he didn’t need random guys throwing themselves at him. Mickey was sitting right next to him, their denim covered thighs resting against each other, Ian’s arm around his shoulders. Neither of them said all that much - Ian had since long noticed that talking wasn’t Mickey’s thing, nor was it his own anymore. They didn’t need to.

 

Ian carefully relaxed his neck slightly, leaning his cheek against the black strands of hair on top of Mickey’s head; for a second mesmerized as how perfectly they seemed to fit together; almost as if it had been meant to be.

 

“It’s like I’ve known you forever” Mickey’s thoughtful voice reached Ian’s ears as they looked out over the city. Ian’s heart sold up a little bit at the words - it wasn’t anywhere close to an ‘I love you’ but it was yet another confirmation that Mickey might feel the same way as Ian did; at least almost. That the painfully amazing throbbing inside of Ian’s chest whenever he looked into those blue eyes might not be completely one-sided.

 

Ian lifted his head again, turning so that he could drop a soft kiss to the top of Mickey’s head. For a beat, he stayed like that, just breathing him in. His next few whispered words were just barely audible;

 

“I might be in love with you”

 

  
***

 

  
A month passed after that; maybe two or three. Things moved… surprisingly smoothly, although Ian wasn’t very happy of course. How could he be? With every single second of every single day, time moved on; he got closer to the day when it would officially have been a year since he had been turned into this, and by then, it would be too late. He would be stuck. For real, completely and utterly stuck. In this body, in this life.

 

He was leaning against the doorway of the greenhouse, a somewhat somber look on his face as he held a saddened red rose in his scarred hand; the bright color standing out against his pale skin. A thin black, long sleeved shirt covered his upper body from the ever so slight chill that still hung in the air despite the fact that the city should be well into spring by now, damn near heading into the summer.

 

Ian swallowed, pinching one of the leaves in between his thumb and index finger, pulling it off of the rose, watching it tumble delicately to the cement ground that he was standing on.

 

Last night, he had seen it again - a message on Mickey’s computer. He hadn’t meant to look, it had just been there. In fact, he had almost forgotten all about it since Mickey was still here, but apparently, he still hadn’t shut down that idea of running away. Which was just about completely understandable, Ian supposed - sometimes he wanted to run away as well. This life, it… was fine, but it’s not what he wanted. It wasn’t who he was. If Ian got turned back somehow, then he would be a hell of a lot more humble than he had been in the past, he knew this. He would make sure of it.

 

However - he still wanted to look good. He liked people - when he looked good - he wanted to go to parties, and use that charming smile, and he wanted to dance and - basically how he was living now was a very lonely life, in comparison to how he had lived in the past. In comparison to how he wanted to live. And if he couldn’t have the life that he wanted, maybe Mickey at least could have the life he wanted. He was worth that much; Ian loved him, he wanted that for him.

 

Ian and Mickey didn’t talk all that much - about their relationship, if you could call it that, that was - they talked about a lot of other things. Books, roses, school - things like that. But Ian had never called Mickey his boyfriend, or the other way around at all, and while they did kiss sometimes, they did sleep together - in no way shape or form did Ian feel that they had been together for long enough that he could confront him about it, or ask him to stay - that wasn’t fair.

 

Ian swallowed, dropping the naked rose to the ground and wrapping his right hand around his left forearm, pushing the thin, black fabric up a little bit, revealing the black tree that was on his skin.

 

One single, small rose appeared in the middle of it, and his breath almost hitched. It wasn’t in full bloom yet, and it wouldn’t be for a while, but it had begun.

 

“Maybe I should just let him go” Ian mumbled, still looking at the tattoo as a small gust of wind blew across the roof, chilling his skin once again.

 

“What?” Svetlana’s voice came from behind him; Ian turned around, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes fell on her and Jimmy where they were sitting in the middle of the shady greenhouse on two chairs, talking amongst themselves.

 

“If it’s what he wants, I can’t ask him to stay. It’s becoming too late to fix any of this anyway…” Ian said then, gesturing weakly over his face.

 

“Don’t be an idiot” Ian frowned, looking to Jimmy, silently waiting for him to keep talking. Don’t be an idiot? Ian considered his thoughts more selfless than idiotic. “You can’t just give up on the boy” The tutor said, head turned slightly towards Ian, hands resting in his lap, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “You haven’t done anything new in a long time. How about… how about you take him somewhere?” Ian frowned even harder.

 

“Take him - like - like where?” He crossed his arms, taking a few steps into the greenhouse and waiting for him to say something more.

 

“Are you saying daddy doesn’t have some other fancy vacation house?” Ian shrugged, thinking about it for a second; as rich as Clayton was, no - they didn’t, really have any kind of vacation house that he could think of. Even if taking Mickey somewhere else would have been a really great idea to get to know each other even better.

 

“No” Ian said. “I mean, just the lake cottage or whatever, but…” He trailed off when Jimmy sighed and Svetlana rolled her eyes at him.

 

“Go!”

 

  
***

 

  
The ride up to the lake house was somewhat quiet - not awkward or anything, just quiet. Ian and Mickey sat in the backseat of the large car as one of Clayton’s drivers were in the front by the wheel. Ian would be lying if he were to say that he didn’t appreciate Jimmy’s idea - taking Mickey up to the house sounded like a good thing. It would give them a chance to do something different, to get to know each other beyond books, sex and roses - but… but Ian couldn’t possibly be happy at the moment.

 

He just had this kind of lump in his throat; it had been there for the past week, or maybe even two. This uncomfortableness, some kind of reminder that the year was almost up, and, and… then what? For the most part, living like this had been completely miserable, but Ian had always had that slight, soft light at the end of the tunnel. The possibility that maybe, just maybe he would be able to get out of it somehow, turn back into what he was. At least physically. But with every single second that passed, the less likely that seemed to become.

 

Ian swallowed, shaking his head a little bit, hoping that the movement would be able to push his depressing thoughts away, if even just for a second. Then he took his gaze off of the flashing trees outside of the car window, turning his head to his right to look at Mickey. His breath almost got stuck in his throat - it always did when he laid eyes on him; it sounded cheesy and exaggerated as all hell, but it was the truth.

 

Mickey’s bottom lip was sticking out a tiny bit into a pout as he looked down at his cellphone, thick dark eyebrows somewhat furrowed. He looked so good. Even if… even if he wouldn’t say those words in time; even if this was all Ian would ever be, what he was now - he really wished for Mickey to stay in his life. For him not to leave. Because that might just crush him.

 

  
***

 

  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian heard Mickey’s amazed voice as he looked up at the large house, right as they had both stepped out of the car, being handed their bags. Ian chuckled once, slipping his hands into the deep pockets of his black hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, for once just because it was slightly chilly out here.

 

It had been raining quite a bit last night, and on the way up here as well; currently they weren’t being hit with any drops from the sky, but the water was resting on the grass beneath their feet, and on the metal gate that they were standing right in front off, the driver getting ready to drive off once again. The sky above them was grey, promising more rain any second; and honestly, Ian couldn’t say that he minded all too much. In fact, he kind of liked it.

 

The thick strap of his bag hung over his right shoulder as he stepped up to Mickey’s left side, looking up at the house simultaneously; it actually looked a lot bigger than he remembered it. He hadn’t been here in a long time - maybe a couple of years, actually. Back when he had been a little bit younger, fourteen and fifteen - maybe even sixteen - they used to come here a lot. But then his mother had left, and Clayton had started working even more, and things just kind of faded out. And even so - Ian had always been as obnoxious and self-assured back when he had had his looks, so he hadn’t appreciated things as much as he did now.

 

Ian had to admit, that was one of the things that he did appreciate about this past year, that he had learned to find the beauty in smaller things. But he doubted that that had anything to do with not having his own - in fact, it probably had more to do with Mickey, and how he did so. How he could look at a small rose, or a damaged piece of wood with paint chipping off of it and find it appealing, or even beautiful. Ian wanted to be like that, too.

 

The house was made out of dark wood, three stories high. Large windows, and a wrap around porch - Ian had never appreciated it when he had been younger. It had just been another one of daddy’s houses, but - but now he liked it. Now he could see that it was actually quite beautiful, especially with the lake just a few meters away from the porch, not another house in sight.

 

Yes - this had surely been a good idea.

 

“Come on” Ian smiled at Mickey as they started walking up towards the door.

 

  
***

 

  
The rest of the day wasn’t spent much differently than a lot of the ones they spent together. After they had entered the house, Ian showed Mickey around a little bit; took him through the different offices, the kitchen and the livingroom - he didn’t show him everything, though. He didn’t bother showing him Clayton’s rooms; they were just full of paperwork and documents that Ian would never be able to understand the importance of. Even less these days.

 

For a few hours, they sat out on the porch. Ian sat on one of the chairs, looking out over the lake as Mickey saw on top of the porch fence, leaning back against one of the poles holding the entire thing together. A book in his lap that he was reading out of. It was all somewhat similar to how they would have spent the day back at the home, but it didn’t feel boring - and it didn’t feel the same. It felt… good to be somewhere different. And Ian had to admit that it felt kind of good to be back here; it felt good to realize that to some kind of degree, he still did have the same life he had had before Mandy had done this to him. He just… he supposed he just understood more things now, understood what things should be important and what things didn’t need to be as important in life.

 

The rain had subsided a little bit - it was no longer hanging above their heads in dark, promising clouds.

 

Instead the sun was almost shining up in the cloud filled sky - the sky filled with fluffy, white clouds, that was. Rather than something that would fill Ian with dread for when he would hear that first raindrop fall onto the roof above their heads. The black hoodie was no longer on his upper body; it hung over the porch fence instead, right by Mickey’s feet. Ian was wearing a thin, white v neck - something he hadn’t had the courage to dress in in a long time. Maybe because you could quite clearly see his chest through it; the scars and the tattoos, and the slashes, and the - the things that did in fact fill Ian with dread as soon as he thought about what he looked like.

 

Once in a while, he would forget. When he was looking into Mickey’s eyes, or when he was kissing him. Then, he would forget how far away from beautiful he was. Then, he would forget the fact that his head was bald, not a single strand of red hair on top of it. Then, he would forget the fact that the lips that Mickey was kissing had large scars cut through them, almost looking as if they were split in half, but - but then he would remember. And as… somewhat alright… as Ian had been lately, he would never be completely happy looking like this. That was just somewhat of a fact, actually.

 

Ian lifted his head, looking up at Mickey, shaking those depressing thoughts. He didn’t want them, not now. Today was just about as perfect as it could possibly be, and he couldn’t do anything about the bad parts of his life right this second anyway, as much as he would like to. So, fuck it. He decided he would just try to forget about it for now.

 

Instead, his scarred lips pulled up into a soft kind of smile while he studied him, listened to the way that Mickey said the words on the page; Ian doubted that Mickey was really reading out loud for his benefit, but rather his own. Because he liked hearing the words rather than just mentally reading them - Ian understood that, he supposed. Not to mention the way in which the mere sound of Mickey’s voice - no matter what words it formed - would always be able to make Ian feel better.

 

  
***

 

  
Possibly an hour or two passed, and they were walking next to each other on the soaked grass, the sun still shining somewhat above their heads. Trees were spread around the lake, once in a while shielding the lake from their vision just a little bit before they continued walking. The darkness of the night would be here within another hour or two, the sky beginning to become somewhat more grey, almost yellow but not quite.

 

Ian was somewhat lost in his own thoughts when he felt Mickey’s slightly smaller hand slip into his own, their fingers lacing together. He fought the dumbass smile that threatened in his cheeks, and he settled for a small one, looking down at the pale, perfect tattooed knuckles against his own hand - for a second he thought that it would look so much better if his own was slightly pale and covered in freckles rather than almost white and covered in scars, but he shook it off.

 

“I ask you something?” Mickey’s voice reached Ian’s ears as he stood in front of him, their walking coming to a stop. Mickey looked up at him, piercing blue eyes, their hands slipping apart, his arms crossing over his chest as Ian slid his own into his pockets, nodding.

 

“Yeah” Mickey was silent for a small beat after Ian’s agreeing; his fingertips resting on his own pale upper arms, one of his regular black muscle tees covering his chest. The brown hair was a little bit all over the place, for once not styled with any kind of product as he liked to have it a lot of the time. For a moment, Ian wanted to reach out and run his fingers through it, but then Mickey finally spoke.

 

“Why are you always hiding?” Ian shrugged, the edges of his mouth pulling upwards in lack of anything else to do; he shrugged, starting to walk once again, Mickey soon continuing as well, probably waiting for an answer. Ian should have known that this was a question that would come up as they grew closer - it was obvious that Mickey didn’t find his appearance all that off-putting. But something that he couldn’t possibly understand - that was that every single day, Ian lived with the memory of not looking like this.

 

Of not having people furrow their eyebrows, or gasp - not that it happened a lot, or ever, really - because no, he didn’t really allow people to see him. Whether it was wearing his hoodie, or dipping his head as he walked, or both.

 

Ian used to be - well, Ian used to be Ian Gallagher. Now he was… this. And yes, it had become somewhat normal, and sometimes a day, or even two, would in fact pass with him not feeling bad about it. With him not missing his old life. Because he had Mickey, he had Lana and Jimmy and… in a way somewhat of a good life, he supposed, even if it wasn’t very eventful. But Ian would still always be Ian to some degree - he would always enjoy looking good, he would always enjoy going to parties, he would always enjoy knowing that the world stopped spinning when he walked into a room - even if he would never, ever go back to being the same guy that he had been before.

 

Ian’s mind spun and spun as he and Mickey walked a few more steps, him trying to figure out what to say. How to explain it without just… completely blowing the whole thing up. Without having the whole thing blow up in his face. Mickey couldn’t know that Ian and Crow was the same person - and even if Ian were to tell him, there was no fucking way in hell he would believe it. But Ian did want to give him an answer… an honest one. So;

 

“You’ve seen me. You figure it out” Ian just shrugged; he couldn’t come up with anything else. He thought that maybe he heard a small chuckle come from Mickey’s mouth as well, at the answer. For a beat then, as they continued walking next to the lake, it was silent. Then Mickey’s voice reached Ian’s ears again.

 

“Your face is fucked up, man” He stated. “Different and whatever” Ian frowned; neither of them looked at each other, maybe that was what made it easier for them both to talk about this. They never had, really - probably because Ian often made it clear - without voicing it - that his looks weren’t his favorite conversation topic. So Mickey never had either - voiced it - said what he thought about Ian’s face except for a few statements like ‘You’re beautiful’ which, oddly enough, Ian kind of believed to be true these days.

 

Not that he believed that he was beautiful - but he believed that Mickey believed it. As fucked up as it was that anybody could take a look at him and say, or even think such a thing.

 

“But it’s not ugly, you look badass. So why are you hiding?” Mickey asked again, turning his head to look at Ian, bumping their shoulders together slightly.

 

Ian continued looking straight ahead - all he saw when he looked in the mirror was ugly. Everything and anything that he had never wanted to be, had never been before. But he still wanted to smile at Mickey’s words - he sounded so sure. Ian didn’t answer, though - couldn’t possibly find words that were good enough. Couldn’t find a way to explain it, and - finally, Mickey seemed to catch on.

 

“What about when people do see you?”

 

“They don’t" Ian immediately said, some slight amusement clouding his voice. “I got it down by now” Then he swallowed, deciding that it was now or never. “I got you something” And he reached into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, pulling out the different sheets of paper that were folded and re-folded, and then folded again.

 

Ian stopped walking, and Mickey noticed, doing the same. The thick, black eyebrows were somewhat knitted together as he looked down at what Ian was handing him. The papers looked used and somewhat old, only because Ian had been struggling with this letter for so many weeks, he couldn’t even count them anymore. He had written and erased, and folded and straightened them out, and now - maybe, just maybe the right words were there. Though he wasn’t a writer, he hoped that it was alright.

 

“The fuck’s this?” Mickey asked, voice surprisingly soft as he put his fingers around the papers, accepting the letter. Then he looked up at Ian, silently asking again. Ian just shrugged - honestly he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what it was - maybe it was a love letter, but there were a lot of other thoughts in there as well, thoughts that didn’t necessarily have to do with Ian’s love for Mickey. So… it was a letter. Yeah. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that, did it?

 

“Uh, a letter” Ian hated how unsure he sounded before shrugging. “I started writing it to you a while ago” Mickey unfolded it once, not nearly enough to see the text, it was just as if he was making sure that this was real. Then he looked up at Ian, his smile not quite large enough to show his teeth, but large enough that Ian’s guts started fluttering as he took a step closer, eyes focused on his lips.

 

The sun had just started to set ever so slightly over the lake, and Ian’s hand landed on the side of Mickey’s waist; something occurred to him as their lips rested dangerously close to touching. Maybe to both of them, in fact - this moment was perfect.

 

And then - then, of course Mickey’s cellphone had to ruin the moment.

 

“Fuck” He cursed, and Ian took a step back, letting him fish it out of his pocket and check the screen. Ian looked at him, watching the horror appear on his features.

 

“What?”

 

“My fucking dad OD’d”

 

  
***

 

  
The rain started pouring down quite soon after that. The sun disappeared from the sky completely, leaving the world black for the night as Ian and Mickey rushed along the pavement, running, trying to make sure that Mickey would be able to get to the train before it took off; the drive up to the lake was at least a couple of hours, and they didn’t have that kind of time to wait for the car to come pick them up.

 

Honestly, from the short moments that Ian had seen Terry, he hadn’t seemed like the most admirable human being in the universe, but by now he had noticed that Mickey loved his father, despite their relationship being complicated - in a fucked up way, Ian supposed that it sort of reminded him of his relationship with his own, so he had insisted that Mickey should travel back to be with him - it was the only right thing to do, honestly.

 

“I’ll call you in a couple days or whatever, alright?” Mickey asked over his shoulder, and Ian agreed right as they reached the train platform. Not a lot of people were around at the moment, seeing as it was so late at night right now; a couple of people inside the train but none outside on the actual platform. It was somewhat silent, as well - save for the way that Ian could hear his own heart beating from the running they had done, and the promise of thunder somewhere in the far distance.

 

The rain poured and poured, the drops soaking Ian and Mickey both completely; the dark strands of Mickey’s hair were glued to his forehead as he turned around in the doors, his bag slung over his right shoulder as he looked at Ian. A part of Ian wanted to kiss him really badly at the moment, but he was well aware of the fact that now wasn’t the time, so he kept from it.

 

“Mickey, everything’s gonna be alright” He spoke, though. He thought that maybe he could somehow physically see him relax from the words as he nodded. Mickey’s chest lifted once, and then he relaxed just about completely, nodding.

 

“Okay” Then he took one step forwards, laying an arm around Ian’s neck, hugging him quickly; they couldn’t know when exactly they were going to see each other again, even if soon was a good guess. “Thanks, man.” Then there was a small, tiny beat of silence - and the next words to come out of Mickey’s mouth might as well have been a blow to Ian’s stomach. “You’re a great friend” Ian’s features relaxed - in surprise, in confusion. Then Mickey gave him a small smile, and he turned around, walking onto the train, the doors closing behind him.

 

Ian swallowed, backing up as he watched him through the window, sitting down. A small voice in the back of Ian’s mind, it echoed. It was saying that he should have seen this coming - realized that maybe Mickey didn’t have feelings for him that were as strong as the ones he had for him, himself. They kissed once in a while, they had slept together once or twice - maybe it was three times - but Mickey had never really ever made it clear that they were in a relationship, or even that he… more than liked Ian. Which wasn’t his fault, it was Ian’s.

 

That ‘You’re a great friend’, that had sounded like an apology to Ian’s ears. It had sounded as if it was him telling Ian that he was sorry because he couldn’t feel exactly the same way, because he didn’t want to be his boyfriend. Because maybe he had just been bored in that house in the past few weeks. All of that was in the end - perfectly alright. Who could love Ian anyway? He should have assumed that -

 

“No” Ian mumbled to himself as he watched Mickey through the window, starting to unfold the letter. “No” He said again as the train started to move, and he started to run after it a little bit, jumping up to try to catch Mickey’s attention somehow. “No, no don’t read that! Don’t read that, don’t - “ Ian slammed his hand against the window a couple of more times, but Mickey never reacted, and he was forced to give up, standing behind on the train platform in the pouring rain as Mickey unfolded the letter, and thereby learned every single thing that Ian had always been scared to tell him.

 

  
***

 

_Mickey,_

_lately I have been thinking about letters. Long, hand-written, real letters. And how sad it is that no one writes them anymore. That’s why I have decided to start one. For you. Today. And I am going to write to you. Every single day for a long, long time._

_Because… because I think I might be dangerously close to the edge of falling in love with you. Real love. The kind that you are only ever granted once in a life time, if you are one of the lucky ones…_

 

  
***

 

  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Nine days.

 

Nine of the heaviest days that Ian had ever experienced in his entire life. It felt like so much longer than nine days since he had been standing on that train platform in the pouring rain with the realization that he would never be an epic love to Mickey - not the way that Mickey was to him. Ian wasn’t angry with Mickey, he didn’t have any kind of reason to be. The only person he was angry with was himself; for letting himself believe that he could be happy like this; for believing that Mickey could fall in love with him.

 

Mickey liked him, of course he did. Ian knew that. But Mickey liking Ian wasn’t nearly enough when Ian had since long fallen hopelessly and completely in love with him. And it could never be enough. Not to mention how much better Mickey deserved; he was an amazing person, he deserved someone who could go out and be seen in public without having to hide. He deserved someone who actually knew how to write and didn’t just try. He deserved everything, and Ian wasn’t everything.

 

Especially now that there was no fucking way in freezing hell that he would ever be able to go back to his old self, physically. Or even mentally.

 

In one year, Ian had lost himself, Ian had fallen in love, and he had had his heart broken, and there would always, always be a piece of his very soul missing because of it. That’s how he felt. That’s what he knew.

 

Every single day that he went through, it was all filled with flashbacks. Of when he had first been turned into this, of his old life, of… of believing that nobody could ever truly, completely love him while he looked like this, and now - well, now he believed it again. Mickey cared about him, Mickey liked him, but he wasn’t in love with him. And if that didn’t carry the weight to crush Ian all the way down to the bone, he wasn’t sure what exactly could possibly do so.

 

  
***

 

  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

 

The bare back of Ian’s head hit the wooden surface of the wall behind him; maybe if he hit it hard enough he would end up forgetting. Forgetting the pain; forgetting Mickey - forgetting everything that was the cause of him currently feeling like the worst human being in the entire world at the moment; the unluckiest. His eyes were naked; he didn’t have much emotion to show anymore, he just went through each day feeling empty. His lips were parted casually, he was tired. Physically and mentally. He just wanted his life back.

 

Ian wasn’t sure if what he wanted back were the parties, the red hair and the money - or if it was the quiet, dark nights up on this roof together with Mickey, reading old classic books out loud - either way, Ian just wanted it back. Whichever life he could get.

 

Ian’s legs were wrapped up in a pair of black skinny jeans, ending in his combat boots, stretched out in front of him onto the cement floor where he sat. Several rose petals laid around him, old ones and new ones, brown ones, dry ones, red ones and white ones, soft ones. Shards of glass and dried clay from the flower pots that he had shattered that one night. That one night when it had all become too much for him.

 

He swallowed, looking down at the phone beside his leg. The screen was black, still shattered. Another result of his anger. Frustration. Heartbreak. Mickey had called once; or maybe it had been twice. But Ian had never picked up. He didn’t have any interest in hearing the ‘we can be friends’ speech, or anything in its family. Hearing Mickey’s voice at all, it would just end up being… too tough for Ian at the moment, because he knew now that they would never be quite what he would like for them to be.

 

He had listened to his voicemail once, though - that was how he knew hearing his voice was a bad idea. It had brought him to throw the pot with the most beautiful roses across the roof, probably falling down and shattering on the sidewalk behind the house. Though Ian didn’t want to - he could still remember the voicemail word for word, though he had only listened to it a little bit. Mickey’s voice would probably always get stuck in his head.

 

_‘Why the fuck aren’t you answering my calls, asshole?’_ Then there had been a beat, a sigh, and the next words had been softer. _‘I read your letter, alright? All of it - fuck - just, just call me back.’_

 

A tiny part of Ian wondered - of course - if Mickey could love him somehow, if he had interpreted the moment by the train the wrong way, but even so - even if there was a slight possibility, Ian would never be able to live with the disappointment if he hoped, and it proved to be false. It was better to stay away from Mickey completely. Stay away from more heartbreak.

 

  
***

 

  
“Are you ever going to pick yourself up again, hm?” Ian swallowed, non-existent eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at Svetlana where she stood in the door to the greenhouse, arms crossed over her chest, looking at him. For a beat he was silent, just staring at her, trying to figure out how to answer that question, how to explain the emotions and the thoughts that were currently messing with his head. Though he gave up then, shaking his head slightly, then dipping it and looking down at the cold cement floor that he was sitting on, legs crossed.

 

Ian was sitting in another corner of the greenhouse now than he usually did - that’s about as much variation as he managed. He just… he just kind of liked to sit and sulk, it made him feel better. Or at the very least kept him from feeling any worse, as if that was even a possibility to begin with.

 

It was summer now, the sun shining, but not in here. Ian had hung up dark rags over the largest windows in the greenhouse, creating some kind of shade; creating a darker atmosphere. It was the way that he currently wanted it. The greenhouse wasn’t at all like the one he had built; now it was sad. Damaged, tables flipped and glass shattered. Sad. Dark and tortured; the way that he felt. He had a large, white rose in his hand left hand; his right one picking off the petals, one by one, watching them fall to the floor as he breathed steadily, heavily.

 

“I talked to Mickey” At that, Ian did in fact, look up. But Svetlana was a master in keeping her face neutral, so he couldn’t quite read her.

 

“Oh?” She nodded once, taking another step inside of the greenhouse.

 

“He called me, because he doesn’t understand why you have decided not to answer” Ian looked back down at the sad, cold floor, deciding not to answer that either. He just didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it. Mickey deserved to move on, be happy with someone who he truly loved, and Ian, well… Ian didn’t know about himself. He supposed he would figure it out somehow. “You did not know that he has decided to go back to school, yes?”

 

Ian looked back up again, this time frowning even harder.

 

“I… What?” Svetlana shrugged, taking a deep breath before speaking once again.

 

“Mickey don’t know what to do now, so he agree with Terry and go to boarding school. Get away” It was fucked up; it was cliché, but Ian truly did feel as if he had taken a harsh blow to his stomach with the words. Boarding school - meaning far away. For a minute, he wanted to shake his head, and go chase after him, tell him not to go - but - the second afterwards, he realized that it was best this way. Mickey would be getting away, be happy, and there would be no distractions.

 

“Oh” Ian said again, this time it was a question. He just wasn’t all too sure what else to say exactly. He wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it. Soon, he heard the clicking steps of Svetlana’s heels hitting the cement over and over again at a slow pace as she walked over to him. He frowned once again, looking up from where he sat in the dark, trashed greenhouse.

 

She was standing there, arms still crossed, looking down at him.

 

“Stop being a pussy”

 

  
***

 

  
Ian was unsure whether the black hoodie was a weight or a comfort around his body; over his head as he stood there. On the street, somewhat in the distance, watching the airport. It was bright outside, not way too hot, but it was certainly summer, and there were people around him. _‘What about when people do see you?’_ Mickey had asked him. _‘They don’t. I got it down by now.’_ Ian had answered.

 

Today was the end of that; because if Ian truly did want Mickey back, then he couldn’t wait until it was dark or until he was sure he wouldn’t be seen. Mickey was inside of that airport, right now - waiting for his flight. If Ian waited even an hour or two more, then he would lose him. Even more than he already had. Ian had to admit - Svetlana was a little bit of a bitch, but she could be insightful as well. They had had a small talk before Ian had gotten up and decided that it was now or never.

 

One thing she had asked him was why Mickey would keep calling if he didn’t love him, and… and maybe Mickey didn’t love him the way that Ian loved him. Maybe he did.

 

Either way, if Ian didn’t do this, then he would never find out, and in turn, he would never, ever end up forgiving himself for it. So he had to. He had to do this now, it was now. Or it was never. And never - never wasn’t an option.

 

Ian raised his chin a little bit, his chest lifting and sinking in a deep breath; his hands were shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie, the hood pulled up over the back of his head, keeping him somewhat hidden from view, though not at all completely. Then he started to walk; he started to carry himself towards the large, tall building.

 

A large crowd was gathered outside, people waiting. For other people, for taxis, for buses. Ian walked past and through all of them, ignoring the small gasps that he got when they got even the slightest view of his face. If he wanted to do this, if he wanted to get to Mickey, then he couldn’t let the insecurities get him down. That’s what he had been doing for their entire relationship, he realized today, and he was sick of it. So maybe he would never be back to what he used to be, but maybe he could have a good life anyway, maybe he could be happy.

 

That was, of course - if Mickey would decide to forgive him.

 

More and more people gasped as Ian entered the doors, but he didn’t bother looking down, didn’t bother trying to hide his face as much as possible, the way that he usually did. Instead, Ian kept his chin up, continued taking large, normal-paced steps through the large areas; attempting not to think about it. Instead he thought about what to say, what to do. When he saw Mickey.

 

He felt almost… confident. He had to be; this almost felt like… some kind of finale. Ian just hoped that he would be able to find Mickey at all; this was a large fucking area - but there he was.

 

Ian’s breath just about caught in his throat; Mickey was standing, leaning against a wall, next to one of the vending machines, with his suitcase beside him, looking down at his phone. He was ready to go, ready to leave within the next few minutes.

 

Ian stopped, stood still for a small beat, ignoring the mother that covered her toddler’s son’s eyes when she saw him. All Ian could see was him. The regular black muscle tee that would always be his signature, the dark, styled hair. The way that he looked almost as if he didn’t give a fuck how he looked, but he looked amazing.

 

“Mickey” Ian spoke, surprised at how steady his voice sounded; it was all but how he felt. There were people all around them, looking at them - looking at Ian, most likely - it was crowded, and as much as Ian would have preferred to do this in private, this was it. It. Now.

 

“… Crow?” Mickey spoke, swallowing, his confusion apparent as he straightened up, pushing his phone into the pocket of his jeans and taking a few steps forwards, crossing his arms. There they were, standing face to face in the middle of a crowded airport after a few of the most confusing days that either of them had ever experienced. Mickey was confused, of course he was. How couldn’t he be? Crow had just suddenly disappeared, stopped answering his calls, and now here he was. Like some kind of end scene in a movie or some shit. “Why are you here?”

 

“I - “ Ian tried, but he was interrupted.

 

“You wrote me that fucking letter” Mickey said, and Ian did his best not to cringe at the hurt that was so apparent in his voice.

 

“I know - “

 

“And then you just fucking ignored me, man. Like what the fuck?” Mickey spoke then, annoyance quite apparent in his voice as he looked at Ian, his teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek; he looked as if he wasn’t quit sure what to say, or what to do.

 

If he should be pissed off as all hell or not - it was all a confusing situation, of course it was. But Crow was standing there, eyes filled with some kind of… remorse? Sadness, apology? It was almost unreadable.

 

“I know” Ian sighed again, his arms hanging helplessly by his sides as he looked into those blue eyes, wishing that he could explain. Wishing that he knew exactly what to say or what to do to get him to understand, but it was one of the most difficult tasks that he had ever in his entire life come across, he just didn’t know how to do it. “I was just… I was fucking scared, alright?”

 

“Scared of what?” Mickey dug his fingertips into the pale flesh of his bare arms, obviously trying to keep himself under control as he looked at him.

 

“Scared that you didn’t…” Ian trailed off, the eye contact tearing for a small second as he looked around; no one was blatantly looking at them, of course, but it was quite obvious that people were listening. Despite the low rumble of the other conversations happening around them all.

 

“Didn’t what?”

 

“Love me” Ian spoke with finality; the words surprisingly steady.

 

Mickey’s face softened the slightest bit, his chin lifting, eyebrows furrowing somewhat in even more confusion; of all the things that he had expected to hear, Ian kind of doubted that that had been one of them. But he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to do this. He had been hiding for way too long, hiding his feelings and saying the bare minimum while talking, he couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe Ian would never again be physically beautiful, but he could be honest. Good.

 

“And I didn’t think that you could” Ian said then, somewhat of a sigh to the words as Mickey continued looking at him, hesitance in his eyes while he listened. “Because of how ugly I am. But I should - Mick, I should’ve known a lot better” Ian stated, swallowing; ignoring everything in the world except for those blue eyes in front of him. “That’s not who you are”

 

It was true; Ian realized that now. It had been incredibly stupid of him to think that Mickey couldn’t love him - that Mickey didn’t already love him - just because of the way that he looked. That wasn’t who he was; Mickey was the old Ian’s polar opposite, and maybe that was the main reason that he had fallen for him to begin with.

 

Mickey stayed in front of him, stayed quiet with his arms crossed over his chest. Ian swallowed, taking one step closer, just one; hoping that he was getting somewhere.

 

“Look…” He spoke. “You took one look at me, and you still said that you’ve seen worse” Mickey’s arms fell to his sides, his face relaxed still as he took a few steps closer, a little bit of air still separating them. “And… Mickey, when I’m with you, I’m happy, alright? I don’t feel ugly, or unworthy” Ian spoke truthfully, somewhat of a lump forming in his throat. He was still somewhat vaguely aware of the fact that there were people around them both, watching. Listening. But at the moment, all that could possibly matter was Mickey. The guy that Ian was so unbelievably and irretrievably in love with.

 

“‘Cause you’re not” Mickey’s voice was soft now; possibly even softer than Ian had ever heard it before. He looked up at him, taking another step closer. Ian swallowed roughly, looking back into those blue eyes right as Mickey brought his right hand up to the side of his neck. Ian thought that he was going to cup his cheek, but instead he closed the fabric of the black hood in between his index and middle finger, carefully lifting it off of his head, exposing his skin.

 

For a slight second, Ian started to panic, looking around, eyes traveling over the disgusted and the surprised faces around. But then, Mickey’s hand was there again. On the side of his neck, urging him to look back into his eyes. Blue eyes connected with green, and Ian could immediately start to feel his body calm down again, his mind and soul joining in; watching the love in Mickey’s eyes, and the small, comforting smile that was covering his lips.

 

“You’re not” Mickey repeated again, and the edges of Ian’s mouth twitched upwards in amazement; right as Mickey pressed a little bit closer still, laying his arm around Ian’s neck, capturing his lips in between his own. Ian’s eyes fell closed as well, his hand landing gently on the side of Mickey’s waist, his heart fluttering, his lips responding to the comforting kiss. It was as if the small, weak shards of doubt that Ian had had left inside of him just flew away, and left was this. Just Mickey.

 

Ian wrapped his arm around his waist, tugging him a little bit closer as their lips parted, his own quickly grasping Mickey’s once again for one last kiss before they separated, those blue eyes looking at him again. His hand rested on the side of his neck, thumb on his jawline. Ian swallowed, relaxing his grip around his waist. Ian’s eyes traveled down to Mickey’s lips, noticing how they parted, getting ready to speak; they were interrupted however, by the speakers, announcing that Mickey’s plane would be leaving soon.

 

Mickey’s eyes immediately filled up with confusion again; about what to do.

 

“Go” Ian spoke, with a small smile on his lips. “Go, it’s gonna be alright” Mickey sighed, wrapping his arms around his body, nose pressed into his scarred neck for a moment, breathing him in.

 

Ian swallowed once again, returning the hug, tilting his head so that he could bury his nose in Mickey’s temple, closing his eyes for a short second.

 

“Nothing’s gonna change while you’re gone” He promised then, looking down at his hand, hoping that Mickey hadn’t caught on to the unintentional sad tone in his voice. “Nothing” Ian spoke again, and the hug broke, Mickey placing one more kiss to the pale, dry, scarred lips before picking his bag up from the floor.

 

Ian’s arms immediately felt empty, and he tried to cure it by putting his hands back into his pockets, standing still, sadly watching Mickey walk further and further away from him. So that was it. He took a deep breath, turning around, his combat boots hitting the floor step by step as he had to force his legs to put more and more distance in between Mickey and himself.

 

“Crow” Ian frowned, turning around to see Mickey standing several feet away from him in the distance, his bag hanging over his shoulder, his mouth pulled into the kind of smile that would always make Ian’s stomach flutter. His lips were slightly parted, a silent beat passing. But then, there they were.

 

Those three little words that made Ian’s entire world whole again.

 

“I love you”

 

  
***

 

  
Ian walked out of the doors and into the daylight, feeling incredibly light. Happy, even. So the year had passed; he would never again be back to what he had been, he would look like this forever. But in the end - as much as Ian would have preferred to have his red hair back, his perfect skin - he couldn’t do anything about it as it was now. And in the past year, he had learned a lot. Realized that… he loved Mickey, and Mickey loved him, maybe it would take them a while to get to a real, steady and great place in between them, but they were happy.

 

And as far as Ian’s life went outside of his relationship, it wasn’t too bad. Maybe it was possible to be happy without having the perfect face, or the perfect house. Maybe that wasn’t all that mattered in the world, after all. Maybe growing up, Ian had been taught the wrong thing, maybe his family had taught him backwards. The way that Ian saw it now… maybe a pretty face was a bonus, not much more.

 

The sleeves of the black hoodie were pushed up to Ian’s elbows, and the hoodie hung down his back, he hadn’t bothered lifting it back up after Mickey had pushed it off of him. People still looked as Ian stood outside of the glass doors, maybe one even gasped, but Ian didn’t care. Which was… honestly such a relief. It was a good day; he had to believe that.

 

But then… then something started happening to him.

 

A sensation spreading throughout his body, one that he had only felt one time before in his entire life. His vision started to go blurry, and he started feeling unsteady on his own feet for a short moment; it wasn’t as intense as last time, not at all actually. But he still felt it; the shaped traveling before his eyes, the slight touch of the headache.

 

Then - well… then nothing. Once again, Ian felt completely normal. Light. As he had done a few seconds ago. But… even better. He frowned; that couldn't be right. It had to be some weird touch of migraine or something - a year.

 

That’s what she had said. Mandy had been quite clear, and a few days ago, that year had gone by. Mickey hadn’t told Ian that he loved him within that time.

 

Though, as Ian looked down at his hands, he didn’t see scars, or unbelievably pale skin. He didn’t see ugly tattoos, or red gashes - he saw freckles. Spread out over soft, perfect skin. The view that he had wished for for so fucking long now. A soft sound in-between a chuckle and a surprised gasp escaped out through his thin, pink lips, and he looked up; able to catch a slight view of himself in the glass doors. Just enough. There he was; Ian. Not Crow, not some beast - Ian Gallagher.

 

Ian could see himself; the red hair was on his head in somewhat long, soft strands. The squared jaw didn’t have any scars on it either, in fact he couldn’t see a single one. His skin was back; littered with nothing but freckles and small hairs. His body was back, his eyes, his eyebrows, his lips - he was back. What the fuck. Ian looked back at himself, mouth pulling into an amazed smile; he had given up hope.

 

Or almost, at least, but - he dipped his head, lifting his left arm to look at the pale forearm.

 

The tree was gone - all of it was gone - the only thing that was left was a single branch of the tree, along with an eye that looked suspiciously a lot like Mandy’s translated into ink. The eye winked at him before disappearing completely, and Ian grinned. He was back. Shit, he couldn’t believe it.

 

“Crow?” Ian’s breath got stuck in his throat as he heard Mickey’s voice calling the name; thankfully he had his back turned towards the doors, so he was able to take a second or two to collect himself. Then he turned around. “Cr - Ian?” Mickey did a pit stop, thick eyebrows furrowing as he looked at Ian for the first time in over a year.

 

“Hey” Ian cursed at himself inwardly - that was lame as all hell, not to mention getting him fucking nowhere. Mickey nodded, seeming incredibly stressed - understandably, Ian supposed; he was rushing to find Crow, not having any kind of clue that he already found him.

 

“I don’t wanna be rude, man, but I’m looking for someone” Mickey spoke, turning around and walking down the stone steps that lead up to the front doors of the building. Ian followed, not quite knowing what else to do; he was just as stressed as Mickey at this point.

 

“I understand” Ian said, continuing to curse quietly as they got further away from the building, heading towards the streets.

 

“Great, maybe at some point you’ll tell me what the fuck actually happened to you - Crow!” Mickey called again, probably hoping that he was close by, just out of sight. Ian continued rushing after him, wishing that he could tug on his arm and make him stand still to listen, but knowing by now that Mickey would never go for that. So for now all he could try to do was explain as he ran after him, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do, exactly. Fuck. Ian couldn’t even begin to think straight whatsoever.

 

“I met a guy” Ian said.

 

“Great” Mickey continued hurrying along the streets, most likely confused as to why Ian was insisting on following him. “Crow!” He yelled again before lowering his voice slightly, muttering to himself. “Where the fuck is he?”

 

“I fell for him, he reminds me of you” The words coming out of Ian’s mouth were a complete and utter mess, one statement making less sense than the other. “I think love can change you? Do you believe love can change you?”

 

“Of course, man” Mickey said, slightly out of breath as he stared to slow down, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to find Crow by mindlessly wandering the streets. He continued looking around, searching the windows of the stores across the streets, frowning, wondering how the hell he could have gotten so far within a few minutes. He still wasn’t paying Ian much attention, too focused on finding Crow, but Ian swallowed, not giving up yet.

 

The clouds above their heads started to turn more of a grey shade, the air threatening with rain now; but the chilly air somehow made it easier to breathe. Made it slightly easier for Ian to breathe as the sun disappeared completely.

 

“Then you’ll believe the story I’m about to tell you - it’s about a guy. He - he’s good looking on the outside, ugly on the inside” Ian tried, knowing that he was stumbling over his words; both because of the pressure of the moment and because he was somewhat out of breath from following Mickey around for the past few minutes as he hurried; he was more walking now, not quite pacing, but still looking around. “And there’s a curse” Ian added, then finally Mickey came to a stop. “Love - love changes him” Ian said, not knowing whether any of what he had just said had made any kind of sense whatsoever. He could only hope.

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his phone.

 

“Everybody knows that fucking story, man” He sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at his phone, pressing a few buttons to call Crow up; then he lifted the phone up to his head, the thumb of his free hand rubbing over his bottom lip in nervousness - and maybe frustration. He looked over the shade covered street, steady breaths coming out from in between his parted lips.

 

Ian swallowed; it didn’t take him very long to figure it out.

 

His phone was in his back pocket.

 

If Mickey was calling that phone, waiting for Crow to pick up, to be a street over, or on his way home - then he would be confused to say the least. Because the phone that Mickey was calling was - there it was. The ringtone, the buzzing in the back-pocket of Ian’s skinny jeans.

 

Mickey’s face lit up for a moment, and he started looking around the street once again, expecting to see the bald head and the scarred face that he loved. But he didn’t see that; what he saw was Ian’s face.

 

Eyes damn near tearing up, his teeth scratching at the inside of his bottom lip in nervousness. His arms hung limp by his sides, he didn’t bother picking the phone out of his pocket; there was no need to do so. His stomach turned; and this time not in the good way. He was nervous for how Mickey would react, nervous he would end up losing him again - of course he was. How the hell could he not be?

 

It was as if Ian could see the exact moment when Mickey started realizing it. When his face fell, his eyes filling up with confusion, eyebrows furrowing. Lips parting as the air around them grew even a little bit colder, a small, tiny drop of rain falling onto Ian’s smooth cheek.

 

Mickey swallowed, bringing the phone down, slowly; he looked at the screen, his thumb hovering over the red button. It took a second or two, but finally he gathered up enough courage to press it.

 

The ringtone coming from Ian’s phone stopped at the perfect time.

 

Ian was silent for another beat; he didn’t know what to say - what should he say? Really? There wasn’t exactly a manual for this kind of situation.

 

Mickey took a breath, and the screen of his phone fell black, a couple of raindrops painting it as he looked back up into those green eyes, seeming to notice the resemblance for the very first time.

 

“Have you ever… felt a love like that?” Ian asked. It was all he could come up with; a love that was that strong. A love that could change people, a love that would never fade, a love that could move mountains or fucking make it rain. The tears continued gathering in Ian’s eyes as the rain started to speed up a little bit, more and more drops falling into the red strands of his hair, and onto his cheek. Onto Mickey’s temple; and Ian found himself reaching out to wipe it away, softly. “Have you?”

 

Mickey’s mouth started to pull up into some kind of amazed, confused smile. Almost as if he was blown away. The slight nod of his head was tiny; barely noticeable. But Ian noticed it. His lips mirrored the expression of Mickey’s, his heart fluttering in disbelief; the best kind. More and more rain started to drip down onto the street, painting the grey pavement black, one drop at a time.

 

“It’s you” Mickey spoke, amazement still clouding his soft voice as Ian took a step closer, wiping another drop of rain off of his cheek. Ian nodded softly once, confirming what Mickey had already realized. “It’s you” Mickey sighed again, a barely audible sound in between a chuckle and a sigh escaping out through Ian’s lips at the sound; then he nodded once more.

 

More and more rain started dripping down as Mickey’s smile became less tentative, and he took one step closer to Ian, the large, freckly hand cupping his cheek as their lips pressed together, eyes falling closed. Mickey brought his hand up to the red strands, for the first time tugging at them, feeling the softness in between his fingers.

 

The weather grew harsher, the rain starting to absolutely pour down over the city. The trees danced in the wind, and the thunder promised in the distance. But underneath it all, stood Ian and Mickey, soaked, kissing in the middle of the street. For once, they both felt as if everything would be alright.

 

And they lived happily ever after.  
_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those of you who still read my stuff, by the way, no matter if you just read this one or if you read whatever I post, it means a lot <3


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